


Electronic Skin

by ThePrettyTomboy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern, Anxiety, Arospec Jake English, Atheist Character, Blood, Bromance to Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Roller Coaster, Getting Dressed, Gun Violence, Homophobia, Hospitals, Humanstuck, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Morbid Humor, Panic Attacks, Pining, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, Slurs, Swearing, Vomiting, religious character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 61,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrettyTomboy/pseuds/ThePrettyTomboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk Strider is a roboticist for the SBURB Corporation. This entitles him to several privileges, including a personal bodyguard in the event that his life is endangered. Not that he needs one. But as long as that bodyguard is Jake English, Dirk isn't complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. wink wonk

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, I am the most sporadic updater ever. Of all time. Pretty much everything tags-wise and description-wise is subject to change at this point. Not to say I don't know where I'm going with the story, just that I struggle with summaries that are a little too spoilerific so I'm erring on the side of caution.
> 
> I edit chapters before posting, but sometimes mistakes slip by or I change my mind on a particular word, so I will be making changes in earlier chapters as I work through the story. You're not losing your mind, I promise.

**> Dirk: Prepare to clock out.**

You shrug out of your white coat and examine the greasy, colorless splotch that betrays the oil incident you had earlier this afternoon. You toss the coat into the laundry hamper at the end of your workstation. Is it Friday? You hope it's Friday, because otherwise you're out of lab coats for the week.

“Hey Di-Stri!” calls Roxy Lalonde. She leans against the doorframe of the cybersecurity office. “Drinks at my place tonight?”

You had hoped for a legendary infinite shower within the next thirty minutes, but you can't say no to an invitation from your best friend. You give her a thumbs up from across the room as you fish for your keys. They aren't in your back right pocket, so you pat the other three. Every one of them is empty. Shit. You sift through the various robotics components that litter your workstation and tell yourself to get a bright orange key the next time you’re at Wal-Mart. On your hands and knees, you search the smooth cement floor beneath your desk.

Footsteps approach you at a casual pace and stop to your left. “Sooo, Dirky, to what do I owe the pleasure of this fine view?” Roxy nudges your ass with the toe of her shoe and giggles.

“Lost my keys,” you say.

“Hmm.” Roxy leans against the workstation opposite yours. “Did you leave them in your lab coat?”

You extricate yourself from under your desk and crawl to where the laundry hamper was a few minutes ago. Maintenance wheels it around the corner as you pull yourself to your feet. You consider chasing the cart down, but the mere thought gives you a headache. “I’ll get them from lost and found on Monday,” you say. “Can I catch a ride with you?”

Roxy takes your hand and drags you toward the back door of the robotics lab. “I have a spare helmet with yooour name on it!” she says as she tosses you a wink over her shoulder.

Great. Hat hair. You roll your eyes for dramatic effect and Roxy laughs. “How do you find amusement in knowing that this magnificent ‘do will be crushed within the confines of a brain damage deflector?”

“You look sexy in that helmet and you know it,” she says. “Nothing can subdue your Strider swag.”

“Roxy,” you say, “I could make a paper bag sexy. This holds no bearing on the state of my perfectly tamed locks.” You stretch your lanky body and scan your identification before Roxy tugs you into the scorching sun of another balmy Houston afternoon. Your skin prickles with discomfort the moment you walk out the door, so you pull your hand free of Roxy’s and roll down the sleeves of your dress shirt. Thank SBURB for its impractical dress code. For the irony factor, you pop your collar while Roxy digs two helmets out of her saddlebag.

As you expect, Roxy snorts. “You look like an asshole,” she says when she hands you a bedazzled helmet covered in sparkly orange beads. The tag inside bears your name. You’ll never forget the night you and Roxy made an emergency trip to Wal-Mart at three in the morning to buy the Bedazzler off the Made-for-TV shelf. Every bead on this helmet was placed with unironic care.

You slide the helmet over your head. It crushes the sculpted spikes of your hair flat against your skull. “Now I’m a sparkly _moe_ asshole,” you say.

Roxy straddles her motorcycle and pats the seat behind her. “Hold on tight!”

Once you’re settled, you wrap your arms around Roxy’s waist.

“No groping!” she says as she backs the bike out of its parking spot.

“However will I resist such supple temptation?”

“You gotta try. For my honor, Dirky!”

“I am nothing if not a defender of a fair maiden’s honor,” you say.

Roxy pulls out onto the highway and the roar of the wind in your ears drowns all possibility of further quippage. The drivers around you are inconsiderate as always, and you have raised a well-deserved bird to several of them by the time Roxy turns into her driveway outside of town. She’s tried many times since the two of you met to convince you to move into the modest modern mansion with her. It’s the only house for several acres, and the nearest gas station is miles away. The house was a gift from Roxy’s (very wealthy) mother. Sometimes you wonder if Ms. Lalonde knows how quiet it gets here after sunset.

You swing your leg over the bike and remove your helmet in slow motion. With the helmet under your arm, you run one hand through your hair in an attempt to return it to its former voluminous glory. You envy the way Roxy shakes her hair out to perfection, as if it was never trapped under a sweaty dome.

“Aw, Dirk, you look like a smushed cherub,” Roxy says. She reaches for your hair and ruffles it in a way that will no doubt encourage its natural shape to take form.

The damage is done by the time you slap her away. You can feel the insolent, sweat-soaked strands curling in on themselves. By the time you get inside, you look like something straight out of a Michelangelo. You stop in front of the first mirror you find and try to rectify your dire hair situation.

“Wha’chu wanna drink?” Roxy calls from the kitchen.

“You don’t have anything but vodka.”

“I was bein’ _polite_.” Roxy sounds like she’s already had a christening shot or two. Must be a new bottle. “Do you want a classy mixer?”

You give up on your hair. It’s not like you need to make an impression on Roxy anyway. “You still have the Faygo I brought over last week?”

“Teenager sneaking drinks out of his parents’ liquor cabinet mixer it is!”

Clinking glasses lead you to the kitchen. “I don’t know what you’re on about. Faygo is classy as fuck.”

Roxy makes a derisive and vaguely inappropriate noise. “Classy as a fuck at a truck stop.”

“Truck stops are the epitome of high society.”

The vodka swirls around the bottom of your glass as Roxy pours two precise shots for you. “Does Dirk Strider like his men extra burly?”

“Muscles upon muscles,” you say as you pull the Faygo out of Roxy’s refrigerator. “Can’t get enough of those unkempt beards and flowing mullets.” You top off your glass with orange soda and take a swig.

“I think we’ve moved from truck stop to biker bar.”

“Wanna play _Goldeneye_?” you ask.

Roxy’s eyes light up. “Prepare to be obliberated! Oblititated. Ob...fuck it, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Be obliterated.**

Fuck no. Your eyes are glued to the television that Roxy has improbably hooked up to her Nintendo 64. You are, in fact, getting your ass kicked, thanks in no small part to Roxy’s choice to play as Oddjob. Boxy diminutive prick. You stop and aim down, but Roxy whoops and kills you. As long as Roxy enjoys herself, you’re happy, but damn do you want to get just _one_ shot in. Speaking of shots, you take a sip of your second (fourth) vodka mix of the night.

Roxy wins for the fifth time in a row. She lays across your lap and rests her head on your arm of the couch. “Dirk.”

“Yes?”

“Diiirk.”

You raise your eyebrows in question.

“Let’s go dancin’ Dirk.”

The last time you let Roxy take you out dancing, you ended up with three men’s numbers written on your arm in permanent marker. It took ages to get that shit off. “As much as I like that idea,” you say, your voice laced with sarcasm, “you and I are too inebriated to drive the fiery deathtrap on wheels.”

“I’ll call a taxi.”

“Roxy please.”

She clambers into an upright position and grabs your face in her hands. “I won’t even think about findin’ you a hot man this time.” Roxy crosses her heart with such a grave expression on her face that you crack a smile.

You place your hands over hers. “Tell you what: there’s a kickass stereo system in here and I _know_ you have the illest beats this side of Dallas locked and loaded for just such an emergency as this.” You grope for the stereo remote on the coffee table and blast whatever mixtape Roxy has in the tray. “Way better than some shitty dance club.”

Roxy bobs her head to the bass that reverberates through your chest.

If you're honest, these beats are a little _too_ ill for your intoxicated state. You feel nauseous, so you put your head between your knees.

Roxy’s pink-socked feet dance out of your vision and return with a trash can. “You don’t have to keep up with me, you know.”

You stand with the trash can clutched to your chest. Despite being taller and more muscular than Roxy, you have never been able to outdrink her. This has never stopped you from trying, nor from paying for trying. You shuffle into the hall bathroom and kneel over the bubblegum pink porcelain toilet. The color reminds you of Pepto Bismol, and with that thought you heave into the bowl. Your body expels an orange-brown slime that floats on top of the water. You sit back on your heels and reach for the roll of toilet paper, which you use to wipe your mouth. You pull yourself to your feet and lean heavily against the counter as you flush the toilet. Vomiting has made you feel much better. You collect a fistful of water from the sink and swish it to remove the acrid flavor of bile and Faygo from your tongue.

“You okay in here, Di-Stri?” Roxy asks. She peeks around the doorframe at you.

“Peachy,” you say before you swish more water and spit it into the sink. “Now how about that dance party?”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Nurse a wicked hangover.**

Ugh.

You snap your eyes shut against the early morning sunlight that filters into the living room. Where are your shades? Oh right, in your car. At work. “What time is it, Rox?”

Roxy groans against your stomach and nestles into you. You think she drooled on your work shirt.

The clock on the far wall reads 11:11. You stretch your arms and crack your neck. Your shirt rides up and yeah, Roxy definitely drooled on you last night. Gross. You slide off the couch and lower Roxy’s head to the cushion beneath her, then start the shower in the hall bathroom. Steam rises around you as you strip your wrinkled clothes off and toss them in the corner. You wish you’d asked Roxy to swing by your apartment so you could pick up something to change into. The water scalds your skin for a few moments until your body adjusts to the temperature and flushes scarlet. You work Roxy’s pomegranate-scented body wash into a lather and scrub the soap into your skin. The heat of the shower does nothing to alleviate your headache. You step out sooner than you want to because you can’t take the dull pressure behind your eyes anymore. You open the medicine cabinet and pop two aspirin dry.

When you enter the kitchen in nothing but a fluffy pink bath towel, Roxy whistles. She sips what you suspect to be a screwdriver from a plastic cup. “Need a hangover cure?”

“Already took some painkillers, thanks.” You run yourself a glass of water and drain it in one long series of gulps. “Gotta get my spare keys from home and pick up my car,” you say. “Otherwise I’m looking at the mother of all parking tickets.” Before Roxy can offer, you tell her you’ll take a cab.

She gives you a pair of her sweatpants and a zippered jacket to wear home. Both are hot pink, not that you mind. The taxi driver casts curious glances into the rearview mirror, but you set him straight with a pointed glare. You hand him a couple twenties and climb out of the car when it comes to a stop in front of your apartment building.

For the next half hour you wait at the front door for a familiar resident to let you inside. You take the elevator today. Even with a couple aspirin in your system, you are in no mood to climb the innumerable steps to your floor. When you get to your hall, you discover that your doormat is askew. You reach up and run your fingers along the top of the doorframe. Nothing. A frown turns your lips as you test the doorknob, which turns with little effort. You push the door open, slow and hesitant. Your entryway is clear, so you creep deeper into the apartment, tensed for any sudden movements.

Papers shuffle in your office.

You grab an ornamental katana off its display rack and take one careful step at a time toward the office door, which your intruder has left ajar.

“What the fuck do they even want me to get out of here?” they mutter. Probably a man. Your shoe scuffs the floor and he whips around. Red bow tie, green suspenders, and all. “ _Fuck!_ ” He stuffs a handful of papers into the front of his shirt and barrels toward you. You hold your ground, but he knocks you out of the way.

You push off the wall and sprint after him, but all this movement makes you nauseous again. “Get your ass back here,” you say as he disappears down the first flight of steps. Oh hell no. You take them two at a time and your headache flares back up. One stumble on the seventh floor landing and you’re wiped out, one hand scraped raw. You dig your cell phone out of your pocket and dial 911.

Police swarm your apartment building for the next hour. They take your statement and interview your neighbors. A CSI dusts your doorknobs for fingerprints. As they prepare to get out of your (unstyled, unkempt) hair, Jane Crocker enters your apartment. Of course SBURB would send one of their private detectives as soon as they found out. You’re glad it’s Jane and not one of the many employees you’ve never met.

“Are you okay?” Jane asks the moment she spots you where you linger in your kitchen. She takes your arm and examines the Rainbow Dash bandaid on your hand, which you placed strictly for the ironies. Jane takes a step back and examines your outfit. “Isn’t that Roxy’s?”

“Yup.”

“What was stolen?”

You lead Jane past the police and into your office. “Some of my private blueprints. I don’t think the guy knew what he was looking for. From what he was mumbling to himself, I reckon he was paid to break in.”

Jane leans over your desk and looks at what remains of your work. “Anything valuable?”

You shrug. “Most of my important shit is in the safe under my desk. He didn’t have time to mess with it.”

“This is the third robbery of a SBURB roboticist this month.” What Jane says next comes as no surprise, but you tighten your jaw nonetheless. “As per company policy, a private bodyguard will be assigned to you until the perp has been caught.”

Your fists clench at your sides. “I’m more than capable of defending myself.”

Jane waves your dissent away. “SBURB doesn’t care what martial art you have a black belt in, Dirk. I’ll stay with you until Monday morning.”

 

* * *

 

  **> Dirk: Pout all weekend.**

Striders are too cool to pout, but you do manage to brood while Jane escorts you to the office and back. You feel better with your shades on your face. Over the next two days, you vocalize your displeasure with the idea of a glorified babysitter following you around. Jane cooks your meals up through breakfast on Monday, so you find it in your heart to forgive her for her adherence to company policy.

You ride to work with Jane, resigned to your fate. She leads you to the security office adjacent to where Roxy works and orders you to sit in one of the padded lobby chairs while she rounds up your personal babysitter.

Roxy slips in behind you. “Heard what happened,” she says as she sits on the arm of your chair. “I also heard that most of the bodyguards are mad boring.”

You lean your head back against the wall and groan. The last thing you want is a middle-aged rent-a-cop with an arsenal of dad jokes and anecdotes about his children hanging out in your living room.

“Buuut,” Roxy continues. She waits for you to lower your shades and roll your eyes toward her. “I might have thown a little weight around for ya.” Roxy pinches your cheek and hops off your chair as Jane reenters the room.

Jane fixes you with a stern, motherly stare. “I know you aren’t looking forward to this, but please try to be amicable. Jake just flew into the States a few days ago.”

“Jake,” you repeat.

With a sigh, Jane pushes the door open behind herself and stands aside to let the shortest bodyguard you’ve ever seen pass her.

Jake runs an olive-skinned hand through his dark hair when his vibrant forest green eyes meet your face. You swear he’s wearing contacts. His front two teeth are just a little bigger than the rest when he smiles and offers you his hand. “Jake English,” he says.

You stare at the wiry muscles of his forearm for a second longer than appropriate to the professional setting before you accept his hand and shake it. “Dirk Strider.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Strider,” says Jake. He doesn’t let go of your hand. It’s warm and rough callouses brush your skin. You don’t complain.

Roxy slips out of the room as Jane clears her throat.

Jake jumps back and shoves his hands in his pockets. He rocks on his feet and bites his lower lip.

“I’ll get you the keys to a company car by the end of the day. Dirk can show you where to park when you get to his place. In the meantime, I’ll show you around the building and introduce you to the rest of the security staff. Dirk, you’re dismissed.”

You retrieve your keys from lost and found on the way to your desk. As you pull on a fresh lab coat, your cell phone buzzes in your pants pocket.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 8:17

[TG] wink wonk


	2. glorified personal babysitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake becomes acquainted with Chateau du Strider. Dirk is not the cucumber he believes himself to be.

**> Dirk: Stare at your glorified babysitter’s sexy buff arms.**

You settle for a peek every now and then, whenever Jake is too focused on the road to notice the way your head turns ever-so-slightly toward him. You’re not sure whether to thank Roxy just yet. On the one hand, you now have a fine piece of eye candy to arrange on your couch like a statue of Adonis. On the other hand, you now live with the constant threat of a very conflicted boner.

Jake chatters as he drives. To be fair, you think Jake chatters no matter what. Guy probably chatters in his sleep. He tells you about the private island in the Pacific Ocean where his grandma raised him, about his unironic love for all (and you do mean _all_ ) things cinema, about the grand adventures he had when he traveled the world for two years, about his passion for comic books. “I used to fancy Spider-Girl when I was younger,” he says. He turns his grin to you and you fix your gaze to the street ahead. “What about you? Ever have a childhood crush on a fictional lady?”

You adjust your seatbelt and swallow down your discomfort. “Keep your eyes on the road, English.”

“Oh yes, pardon me.” He sneaks glances over at you as he continues to drive. “You didn’t answer my question. How about a famous lady?”

“Nope.” You are not about to admit that you once had a crush on Ben Stiller and his weird, sort of gaunt face. Or any other man for that matter. The less Jake English knows about you, the better.

“Come on, Strider, be a sport!”

Rather than respond, you point to your apartment building. “I have an extra spot in the parking garage.”

Jake parks the black SUV that SBURB has loaned him for the duration of his post as your babysitter. His body arches away from the vehicle as he hops out and turns back to you. He rests his elbows on the driver’s seat and places his chin in his hands. “Did you plan on sitting in here all day?”

You remember that you have a collection of _My Little Pony_ DVDs in the disk rack beside your television. That your puppet collection far exceeds anything appropriate to a grown man. That the anthro sketch of a swole bunny dude is pulled up on your open laptop in the living room. That you have horse posters hung all over the apartment.

You are going to kill Roxy for this. “I was thinking you could pick up some takeout,” you say. “I can wait upstairs. How’s Chinese sound?”

The driver’s door slams and Jake goes around to open yours. So he’s a gentleman? Swoon. “Jane warned me that you might try something like this,” he says. “She left us dinner in your freezer.”

Well shit. You follow Jake to the elevator, where he presses the right button for your floor. It’s no surprise that Jane told him your apartment number as well. “Keys?”

“I’ve got it,” you say. You slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Jake pushes past you into the entryway and strides into the apartment. So much for a chance to explain yourself.

When you gather the courage to shut the door behind yourself and discover what embarrassing artifact Jake found first, you hear the distinctive sound of metal as it clashes to the ground. You rush into the living room to see that Jake has dropped your prized katana.

He bends down and lifts the sword with care. “Is it real?” he asks. His eyes sparkle with delight.

“Edo Period,” you say. “The blade is a special kind of steel called _tamahagane_.” You grab Jake’s wrist when he moves to sweep your sword through the air. “Don’t.”

Jake tosses you a sheepish grin as he returns the katana to its place on the wall. His shirt rides up to reveal the skin of his back. For the first time, you notice the pair of pistols he has strapped to either hip. You aren’t an expert on bodyguarding, but you’re fairly certain that most rent-a-cops only carry one gun at a time. He continues to explore your apartment. By some grace of the universe, Jake bypasses everything you were worried about. He asks about your belts, and you tell him that you studied jujutsu (Japanese, not Brazilian) until you were twenty. You also tell him about kenjutsu lessons and explain why you don’t have any belts to represent your rank. He hangs on to your every word with rapt fascination. “So you really know how to use that fancy sword on the wall?”

“Of course,” you say. Why else would you have spent several thousand dollars on it? Besides your love for Japan and cool swords.

“Let’s engage in a little round of fisticuffs! See if you’ve gotten soft since you stopped taking lessons.” Jake holds up his fists. “I daresay I could take you.” He throws a punch (scratch that bit about him being a gentleman), but recoils when you hit a pressure point on his arm. Jake cradles his elbow and grins.

“I am not about to throw you into my coffee table,” you say. You eye the guns on his hips. “‘Specially not when you’re wearing those.”

Jake huffs and wanders into the kitchen, where he pulls out the tinfoil-wrapped quiche Jane baked for the two of you. She even taped reheating instructions to the top. If your baking wasn’t shit, you’d make her a pan of muffins. When Jake hands you the quiche, your fingers brush together and a jolt of electricity passes between them. He jerks backward at the shock and the quiche plummets toward the ground.

You swoop down and rescue dinner from its cruel fate. “I guess you could say there was a spark between us,” you say. No time to test the potentially homosexual (well, more likely bisexual in Jake’s case, but who’s counting?) waters like the present.

With a laugh, Jake twists the knobs on your oven according to Jane’s instructions. He leans in too close to read the numbers and bites his lip just like he did in the security office. His hips cant backward to give you a generous view of the curve of his backside.

Is it hot in here or is it just the oven? “Okay, well, if you’ve got this under control I’m going to use the bathroom a hundred feet in this direction. Just so you don’t think I’ve run off from under your nose.”

You abscond before Jake has an opportunity to acknowledge what you said. Once the bathroom door is shut behind you, you lean against it and blow a long breath out between pursed lips. You’re going to kill Roxy for this.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 6:42

[TT] I hate you.  
[TG] lmao dirk pls  
[TG] u luv me n u kno it  
[TT] I have been forced to make a retreat into the ablution chamber due to the advancement of Jake’s southern hemisphere into my personal bubble.  
[TG] ogm does he have a nice ass???  
[TG] *omg  
[TT] The English countryside is adorned with rolling, picturesque hills, the likes of which developed over the course of thousands of years of glacial migration. Families gather to have picnics at the top of the hills, generation after generation. Children have been conceived on those rolling hills and born bearing their beauty. Everyone the kids meet know exactly where their parents fucked and it makes the kids kind of uncomfortable until they too behold the majesty that is the English countryside.  
[TG] that nice huh  
[TT] Why do you do this to me.

You slide down the door, which rattles in its frame louder than you had anticipated. A gentle knock sends your face into your palm.

“Are you all right in there, Strider?”

You scoot away from the treacherous door. “Brutal dump.” Seppuku sounds like a wonderful idea right about now.

Fabric rustles on the other side of the door and you imagine that Jake is rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh. Well then, I suppose I’ll leave you to it!” His footsteps move away for a moment before they stop. “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes, by the way. Just in case you’re hiding from me for some unfathomable reason.” Oh shit.

[TT] My cover is blown. Tell your mother I love her.  
[TT] Since I don’t have one of my own for you to tell. I’m sure she’ll understand.  
[TG] wut mkaes u say that?  
[TG] *makes  
[TT] He told me so about thirty seconds ago.  
[TT] I’m about to run an ice cold shower and sit in it, clothes and all, until I join Captain America in cryogenically suspended animation.  
[TT] This may be the last time we ever speak. Say your goodbyes while you still can.  
[TG] but its fun to watch you lose ur strider cool + now i kno ur type  
[TG] i have wated YEARS for this moemnt  
[TG] *waited *moment  
[TT] You’re giggling over a glass of vodka, aren’t you?  
[TG] u kno it lol

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

[TG] dirk no dont leave me hangin

You pocket your cell phone and sigh before you get to your feet and stare into the mirror. All you see is the face of a man defeated by the machinations of his best friend.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Face the music.**

Only when the oven timer goes off do you emerge from your sanctuary. You don’t bother to flush the toilet.

Jake looks over his shoulder at you as he pulls the quiche out of the oven. “Would you like to split this beauty or shall we eat it piece by piece like sensible gentlemen?”

You tell him you aren’t that hungry.

“Piece by piece it is, then!” Jake rummages through your drawers on a quest for a suitable knife. You move aside when he asks, but make no effort to help him. The walls of the kitchen close around you when he makes eye contact, knife in hand. “Care to do the honors?”

“Go ahead.” Your phone buzzes and you shiver. You set your notifications to silent and lay the offending telecommunication device on the counter.

Jake hands you a plate of quiche and picks up his own. “I noticed you don’t have a dining set, Strider. Where do you usually eat?”

You shrug. “In the living room, mostly. ‘M not used to company.”

His grin could start a chain of horrific highway wrecks. “I find that my company is almost always welcome.” Jake leads you into the living room and plops down in the middle of the couch.

You sit as close to the arm as possible. For good measure, you cross your legs and place your plate in your lap. His eyes are on you, and you busy yourself with the divine meal Jane prepared.

“Be level with me, Strider,” Jake starts.

Your muscles tense. You’d almost forgotten your earlier offense.

“Did I say something that upset you?” He chews on his lip so hard you’re afraid he’ll bite it clean off and deprive you of any chance to taste it yourself. “Was it the crushes? I promise to maintain a strictly professional line of conversation from this point on.” He holds his right fist to his heart. “On my honor.”

The tiny upward tilt of your lips happens of its own accord. “Dude no.” You level your eyes with his over the top of your shades. “Like I said, I’m not used to having other people here.” Especially not sinfully sexy men people. You think it best to leave that part out. “Hiding was a dick move.”

Jake regains his chipper demeanor. He takes a too-large bite of the quiche and chokes on it. “You, Dirk Strider,” he says between coughs, “are a class-A douche, and a terrible host.” Did he just insult you? The sly grin tells you that yes, he did, and he is mighty pleased with himself for doing so.

You leap to your feet and slam your plate down on the coffee table. “Roof. Now.”

Jake startles, his expression rearranged into one of bewilderment. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me,” you say. “Strife. Fisticuffs. A good old-fashioned beat down.”

“Oh...oh!” Fire sparks in his eyes. He unhooks his double holsters and tosses his pistols onto the couch. You wince a little at that. “Bring it on.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: You heard the man.**

Jake holds his fists at the ready and bounces from side to side. A boxer. You let him come at you, one of his fists pulled back to strike. As he swings forward, you sidestep, and he stumbles with the force of his punch.

Three well-placed strikes bring Jake to his knees before you and wow, you should not be turned on by that. A strife is no place for the Li’l Man—who shows way more interest in Jake’s position than you care to admit—to rear his ugly head.

Your distraction gives Jake the time he needs to somersault backward and land in a more advantageous lunge. Also a gymnast. He surges toward you, but instead of the punch you expect him to throw, he skids to a halt and hip-checks you out of your balanced stance. _Then_ he punches you in the arm.

You hiss because Jesus Christ on a Christmas cake,  _ow_. The initial plan was to go easy on Jake, but now that he’s asked, you’re more than willing to show off. When he makes to hit you again, you dodge and grab his elbow. You gather a fistful of his opposite lapel and step in close to him. He smells like pine-scented air freshener. You wrap the arm that held his lapel around his waist and heft him up and over your shoulder.

The air whooshes out of his lungs when he lands on the ground. Before you can offer a hand to help him up, Jake sweeps your feet out from under you.

You land on top of him. Something tells you that he relies less on technique than instinct. He tries to roll you onto your back, but you straddle his waist and pin his wrists to the ground.

Jake’s chest rises and falls with each heavy breath he takes. His cheeks are flushed with exertion and he wears his silly grin. “Gadzooks, Strider, I should hire you to be _my_ bodyguard!” He laughs.

You could kiss him. The amount of effort it takes _not_ to kiss him is astronomical. Your fingers tighten around his wrists.

“I accept my beating. Can I get up now?”

Sure. It’s not like that was ever not a thing he could do. You hop to your feet and turn your back to him. Was the roof access door always so far away? You think it’s moved since you brought Jake up here to strife. Said door’s perceived distance from you has nothing to do with the endless stream of dirty thoughts that parades across your brain, nope.

“Wait up!”

You push your legs to move faster.

Jake catches up anyway and keeps pace all the way to your apartment. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”

The universe clearly sent you this man to test the limits of your stoic facade. “Knock yourself out. Actually don’t do that, I don’t wanna have to call the EMTs to save your bare ass.” Why do words leave your mouth.

“Perhaps I should wear my shorts just in case then, eh?” At long last, Jake disappears into the bathroom.

You seize the opportunity and lock yourself in your office with your private robotics projects. From your safe, you pull out a set of blueprints that detail the android you plan to build someday, whenever the components become available to the public. You, of course, already have access to all the parts you could ever dream of needing, but SBURB frowns upon the private use of its property for obvious reasons. The apartment is quiet save for the steady stream of water in the bathroom. You pore over your schematics and make adjustments here and there. A knock on your office door startles you. “Yeah?”

“I can’t seem to find the towels in this blasted place.”

The implications of Jake’s statement render you speechless for several moments. “They should be in the cabinet under the sink.” Did he traipse around your apartment naked? You try not to imagine it. You fail.

“Are you sure? I swear I looked already.”

“Very.” You unlock your door and sneak a look down the hall after you hear Jake walk away.

He emerges from the bathroom in nothing but one of your bright orange towels and catches the door before you can slam it closed in his face. “Not to be a burden but could I borrow a set of clothes? I forgot my suitcase in the car and I hardly think it proper to retrieve it in my current state of undress.”

You point him to your bedroom and do your best to ignore the flush that creeps up your neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am feeling unusually motivated to write, but don't get used to it because I start school again in a couple days, and school has a way of sapping my desire to do anything but sleep.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the support you've shown already! I'm really happy to be writing again, and it's lovely to see others enjoying it too.
> 
> P.S. why did Hussie create persterlogs and also why is that word already in my phone's vocabulary.
> 
> P.P.S. Writing about sexual attraction is an interesting exercise considering my lack thereof. Efforts are being made lmao.


	3. all aboard the dude train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake is less confident than he appears to be.

**> Dirk: Concentrate.**

You would, but Jake has arranged himself over your shoulder so that his breath tickles your neck. You've grown used to the electricity that buzzes beneath your skin whenever he’s around.

Although he's been your bodyguard for the past four days, Jane has had him busy with new information on the break-ins during work hours. This is the first time he's gotten a chance to observe you in your element. “So what’s the doohickey you're working on here, Strider?”

You suppress the shiver that threatens to rattle your spine. “E-skin,” you say. “Its primary use will be prosthetic limbs. After all, everyone deserves to know what it feels like to eat shit failing to do the sicknasty kickflip they learned from _Tony Hawk's Pro Skater_.” With a tiny pair of tweezers, you adjust a wire in the circuitry.

Jake’s chest rubs against your shoulder as he reaches over you to point. Under less professional circumstances, you would welcome his tactile nature. “So is this line of LED lights pressure sensitive, or purely for decoration?” The tip of his finger traces the lines on the blueprint you're working from. “Ah, pressure sensitive it is! Do you plan to keep them past the prototype? I daresay if I lost my right leg, I would be thrilled to make a spectacle of the light show on my prosthesis!” The shock on your face must be apparent, because Jake scoffs. “Now don't give me that look like you thought me an imbecile. I've built a robot or two in my day.” His face is in dangerous proximity to your own.

Rather than turn to acknowledge his indignation, you hum. “What kinds?”

The universe must pity you today, because Jake straightens up and drags a chair halfway across the room to sit beside you. Its legs scrape against the concrete in protest. Elbows rested on his knees, Jake leans forward until you can feel his breath on your arm. Perhaps the universe doesn't feel charitable after all. “Well,” Jake begins, “I once had to repair my Furby as a lad. To my consternation, the progress he'd made learning to speak English was wiped by the damage, so we had to start all over.”

“How did it break?” you ask. You remember the days of Furbies well enough, although you never had one yourself.

Jake laughs and scratches his cheek. “I chucked him at the wall one night after he scared the dickens out of me,” he admits. “That’s why my grandma wouldn't just order me a new one. I'm grateful that she didn't succumb to my belligerent pleading, though. My success with the Furby inspired me to concoct some gadgets of my own.” His eyes bore into the side of your head. “I made a rabbit from scratch. It didn't ambulate via conventional lapine methods, but it could walk alongside me at an impressive clip.” He bites his lip. “I suppose I should specify that I only _built_ the rabbit. My grandma drafted the schematics that I followed.” When he bounces his knee, it rubs against yours. “I'm not nearly the wizard of machinery that you are, Strider.”

“I'm a scientist, not a wizard,” you say, out of reflex more than any conscious reaction to his words. You couldn't count the number of times your work has been equated to magic even if you used the stars as your abacus. “It sounds like you're a capable mechanic.”

“I'll do in a pinch,” he says, “but I wouldn't rely on my expertise if you can help it. My aim is considerably worse with a soldering gun than it is with a pistol.” Jake sits back in his chair with a sheepish expression. “I apologize if I've come across as a braggart, Strider. I'm afraid I have a tendency to stroke my ego, so to speak.”

You watch him out of the corners of your eyes, hands still on your work, and frown. "What makes you say that?"

“Oh Jaaake!” Roxy bounds over to where the two of you are sitting. Her eyes sweep over where Jake's knee touches yours, and you feel your ears light up like the LED panel at your fingertips when she winks. “I just got some security footage in my office that Jane says is relevant to the break-ins. Local authorities think the guy in it might be our culprit, so you're needed ASAP.”

Jake bounces to his feet. The fluorescent light from the ceiling puts a glint in his eye. “Right-o, Miss Lalonde!” Jake offers you a two-fingered salute and a grin before he marches toward cybersecurity.

Roxy lingers by your workstation. “Sooo?”

You dive back into your work with gusto.

“Diiirk,” she whines. “Toss me a line. Is English all aboard the dude train or what?”

With a sigh, you glance at her over your shoulder. “As much as I appreciate your friendship, I kind of don't appreciate your interest in the state of my romantic affairs. I have no intention of altering the strictly professional relationship I have with Jake.”

To your irritation, Roxy snickers. “Is that why you pestered me in a panic Monday night?” She nudges your shoulder. “I bet you could get him to take that first hit of bro. One taste of Strider swag and he'd be hooked.”

“I also don't appreciate my advances being compared to those of a drug pusher.” You realize your mistake too late when Roxy claps her hands together and makes a small sound of glee. “Not that I have any advances for you to compare to drugs or trains or anything else for that matter. This relationship is advance-free. The airport grounded that plane so hard it sank into the asphalt a little, and now it's cemented in place as a warning to future advances that attempt to take flight.” You lean out of your chair and shove Roxy along. “Go debrief Jake or something.”

“I'll fill him in,” Roxy says as she starts toward her office. “The debriefing is up to you!”

You look around the room, glad for once that you lost track of time and worked through part of your lunch break. If anyone else had been in the room, you may have combusted on the spot. You pat the identification card that hangs from a lanyard around your neck before you stand and make your way to the company cafeteria.

On most days, you avoid this place like a GOP convention. Your fellow employees pack themselves around the tables, where they joke and prod and enjoy one another’s company. The air is so laden with the smell of the day’s special that it’s too thick to breathe.

By the time you get to the line, you’re the only one in it, and that suits you fine. You toss a shrink-wrapped sandwich, a bag of Doritos, and a bottle of Mountain Dew Livewire onto your tray before you approach the register.

As the woman behind it scans your card, her fingers brush against yours and she smiles up at you through her lashes.

You do your best not to sneer at her. After all, besides Roxy and Jane, everyone you work with believes you to be a ladykiller. Rather than attempt to find a secluded seat, you abandon your tray at the exit and cradle your food in your arms as you return to your workstation. Food in the robotics lab is less than encouraged, but you don’t care. You unwrap your sandwich and take a bite out of it. A crumb falls to the table, and you brush it to the floor.

A hand wraps around your shoulder. "Miss Lalonde wants you in cybersecurity, Strider!” Jake spins your chair around to face him. “Roxy has a live feed of the suspect. If you can I.D. him, she’ll notify the local authorities so they can compare his prints.” He hefts you out of the chair, sandwich still in hand.

Your body burns where Jake touches you and a nonsensical thought of aloe vera passes through your head as you follow him to Roxy’s office, where she sits in front of a row of computer monitors.

Her eyes don’t leave them when you enter the room. “Suspect just walked into a bar a few blocks from your place.” Roxy beckons you to her side.

It occurs to you as you approach the computers that if you do, in fact, identify the suspect as the man who broke into your apartment, Jake will be reassigned. Your stomach twists itself into a knot as you focus your eyes on the screen that Roxy points to. The man has his back to the security camera. “I can’t tell from this angle,” you say.

Roxy looks over at you with her eyes narrowed. She gestures at Jake. “Go get Dirk a chair. He could be here a while.” Once he’s gone, she rounds on you. “Look I know he’s hot and you like him, and I am on board with getting you two together like you don’t even know, but don’t lie about this. ‘Kay?”

On the monitor behind Roxy, the man turns. He carries himself with grace, and offers the bartender a pleasant wave as he leaves. When he enters the view of a different camera in a better-lit area, you breathe a sigh of relief. This man looks like he’s at least in his late thirties.

“That’s not him. The guy who broke into my apartment was twenty-five at the oldest.” You take Roxy’s hand. “I would never lie to you.”

A smile pulls at her lips. “I know, Dirk. But I gotta be sure, y’know?”

One pointed cough in the doorway draws both of your attention to Jake, who has a desk chair under one arm. “Am I interrupting something?”

Roxy removes her hand from yours and swings back around to her computers. “Nah, this lead was a bust. You guys are dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Endure Jake’s scrutiny.**

Jake casts you glances for the rest of the day. He no longer touches you and sits a couple feet away. You miss the way he made your skin light up this morning. Only when the two of you are on your couch (he sits at the other end instead of in the middle) with boxes of Chinese food in your laps does he voice the question you’ve watched run through his head all afternoon. “So tell me, Strider, are you and Miss Lalonde—”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t let me finish the question!”

You roll your eyes. “You were going to ask whether Roxy and I are dating, and the answer is ‘no’.”

Jake shifts on the couch. “I was going to ask if you and Roxy are related, actually.” Wait, what?

Unsure how to come back from your rude attempt to read Jake’s mind, you slurp down a forkful of noodles to stall while you formulate a response. “Well, no. But she’s kind of like a sister to me. Jane too, even though we don’t talk quite as often. The three of us are just a few contracts and a couple of court hearings away from being bona fide family.”

“Do you have any family?” Jake asks. His voice wavers. “I know I’ve been on and on about my grandma these past few days. I never even stopped to think that it might not be something you wanted to hear.”

“What, no.” You set your food down on the coffee table and scoot across the couch to sit as close to Jake as you dare. “I love the stories about your grandma. She sounds like one hella boss lady.” You sling an arm over the back of the couch and look up at the ceiling. “I don’t have a lot of family,” you say. What happened to Jake English knowing as little about you as possible? “It was pretty much just me and my Bro growing up. He’s a lot older than I am, and he’s the only parental figure I’ve ever had. Things were kinda hard until he landed a contract for one of his scripts. After that it was still hard because he was gone all the time, but we were loaded, so I had everything I could ask for. Like martial arts lessons," you finish. You wave your hand at the belts displayed on the wall.

Jake has set his food aside as well. His body is angled toward you when he speaks. “Does your Bro live here in Houston?”

You snort. “Dude’s a big shot down in Hollywood. He barely has time to send me a generic card for my birthday.” The pity in Jake’s eyes doesn’t escape you. “Look, Bro’s living his dream, so I don’t hold it against him. In the meantime, I have a cushy job that I like and two sisters who shower me in cake and vodka at least once a month. Like literally, this one time Roxy invited me over for the weekend and she and Jane hid in the kitchen to watch me walk right into a double-fuck-me-up cake and vodka bukkake trap.” You flail your arms in an effort to express the magnitude of the mess. “All so they had an excuse to make me change into the kigurumi they’d ordered for my birthday. I’m pretty sure there’s still some icing on Roxy’s ceiling, and that was three years ago. I was afraid to go anywhere near an open flame for weeks.”

“It must be nice, having friends like them.” Jake picks up his food and pokes at it with the chopsticks he insists on using. “I’ve spent so much time traveling that I barely have acquaintances. Maybe I would have made friends along the way if I had paid attention to the language lessons from my grandma. She tried to teach me French, but I was never too invested. I would far rather have been exploring the jungle outside.” He stuffs a few grains of rice into his mouth. “Care to be let in on a little secret, Strider?”

The acrobatic maneuvers your heart performs would put an Olympian to shame. You nod, unable to find your voice.

“You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend.” He laughs, but the tone lacks his usual sparkle. The self-deprecation hurts you more than you think it does him. “I put on affable airs, but really it’s quite hard to be around people. I grew up so isolated from the world that I’m afraid my social skills have suffered for it. Not that I would trade my childhood for anything!” he interjects. “I just wish my old noggin wasn’t so thick sometimes, you know?”

Suddenly Jake’s intrusive questions (and appendages) make sense, and you could punch yourself for your insensitivity. The bathroom incident on Monday resurfaces in your mind and you know in this moment that you are the asshole. It’s you.

Jake tips his box up and lets the last bit of his dinner fall into his mouth.

While he’s distracted, you pull out your phone.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 7:13

[TT] Hey Roxy,  
[TT] Are you drunk yet?  
[TG] yeh why  
[TT] I’ll call a cab then.  
[TG] wut  
[TT] We’re going out.  
[TG] but wut about jake?  
[TT] Him too. Him especially.  
[TG] dirk if ur goin on a date then i dont htink i should be there  
[TG] *think  
[TT] No. I’ll fill you in later, just be ready in an hour. Okay?  
[TG] k  
[TG] but u gotta tell me wuts up asap

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

“Who are you talking to?” Jake asks as he leans over your shoulder.

You angle the screen away from his view. “Roxy and Jane.”

‘What about?” He redoubles his efforts and actually crawls across your lap to get a peek. You deserve a fucking medal for your self-control.

“You’ll see.” 

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] at 7:17

[TT] Wanna go out tonight?  
[GG] What about Jake?  
[TT] Don’t worry about it.  
[TT] We’ll pick you up in a cab by 8:30.  
[GG] Okay?  
[TT] See you then.

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]

You leap to your feet, food long forgotten in favor of your project for the night. “What kind of clothes did you pack?” you ask.

Jake quirks an eyebrow at you. “Pardon?”

“Never mind. Where’s your suitcase?”

“In the spare bedroom.” He hurries after you as you take off down the hall. “Now hold up, I don’t recall saying you could go through my clothes! What in blazes are you looking for?”

You dig through the open suitcase on his bed. He has a pair of black cargo shorts that could be all right, but his shirts are all too formal, or else covered in tacky skull decals. “Put those on,” you order. “You can wear one of my shirts.”

With a yelp, Jake catches the shorts you toss at him. “What’s wrong with my shirts?”

“Did you get them out of the teen section at Wal-Mart?” The noise he makes in the back of his throat is all the answer you need. “Let me put you in something that _doesn’t_ make you look like you just got your driver’s license.” You grab his wrist and drag him into your room before you let him go to throw open your closet.

“I don’t understand what the sudden fuss is about my clothes,” Jake says, arms crossed. “We haven’t gone anywhere all week.”

You throw a white wifebeater and a short-sleeved black button up at him. “Well we’re going somewhere tonight, and I’m not letting you out of the apartment until you look like a suave adult.” As you talk, you pull out your own black skinny jeans and a black tank top.  You strip off your work shirt and let it fall to the ground, acutely aware that your bare back is now on full display. One look over your shoulder tells you that Jake’s eyes are glued to you. “Get dressed,” you say. With the shirt over your head, you unbuckle your pants and shake them off. You try not to think about the tighty-whities you’re wearing as you shimmy into your skinny jeans.

When you turn around, Jake has changed. The black shirt hangs open over the wifebeater. Jake recoils when you reach for him.

“Trust me.” You do up the buttons of his shirt one at a time. The warmth of his body radiates in the space between you, and you do your best not to acknowledge that there are only inches between your lips. Jake is not as slim as you are, and the shirt is a snug fit. “Stay there,” you say. You rifle through the top drawer of your dresser and return to Jake with a white bowtie, which you wrap around his neck and tuck under the collar of his shirt. “You know how to tie this?” The question comes too late, you know, but you’re intoxicated by the way he smells and the way his eyes never leave your face.

“Can’t, uh,” Jake starts as he rubs the back of his neck. “Can’t say I do."

You cross the ends of the tie over one another and work your fingers around the fabric. To be honest, you’ve never worn the bowtie in public yourself. It was part of a Playboy Bunny costume that Roxy gave you as a joke (not that you’re about to tell Jake that). You wore the costume around Roxy’s house once to appease her, then hid it in the recesses of your closet, never to be spoken of again. The bowtie was the only part innocuous enough to hold onto. You straighten the bow at Jake’s throat, then gesture him to the mirror. “See? Suave adult.”

For several long moments, Jake stares at himself in the glass. “I do feel dapper,” he admits. He meets the reflection of your eyes. “Shall we get going then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last of my marathon chapters. From now on, work will be slow and steady, but I'll give my right leg if I get too distracted to continue. Thanks to everyone for showing support!


	4. sex on the beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, one use of the f-slur by a homophobic character.

**> Dirk: Accommodate your ladyfriend.**

You scoot to the middle when Roxy slides into the taxi next to you. She lounges across the seat, which leaves you to crush yourself against Jake (he doesn’t seem to mind). There’s a mischievous tilt to her smile. “I wish you woulda told me we were goin’ out earlier, Dirk. I had a date with _Ocarina of Time_ all planned out for tonight.” Roxy leans forward and waves across the car. “Hey Jake.” She studies his outfit longer than necessary. “You’re lookin’ mighty fine tonight,” she says.

Jake glances at you. “Yes, well, Strider here had some kind of stroke and ripped apart my suitcase before sticking me in this,” he says as he thumbs the bowtie around his neck. “He said he wouldn’t let me out of the apartment until I was a ‘suave adult’.” Jake continues to play with the bow while Roxy speaks. Your fingers itch with the desire to hook into the loops.

“Looks like he did a good job.” Roxy punches you too hard in the shoulder. “I’m about to pass out over here ‘cause you’ve got it cranked up to sauna in this bitch.”

“I can’t help the nuclear reaction that takes place below the surface of my skin,” you say. “I’m the closest thing to a star you’ll ever be graced with the pleasure of knowing.”

Roxy snorts. “So you’re sayin’ you’re nothin’ but hot air?” She doesn’t give you a chance to respond. “Anyway, I was talkin’ about Mr. English over there.”

Jake jerks away from where his head was rested against the window. “Pardon?”

“I said you look hot,” Roxy repeats. “The whole club is goin’ to go down in a collective swoon the moment you step through the doors.”

The heat that rises on his ears transfers to your shoulder as he stammers out his thanks. You dig your fingers into your jeans and force your way into Roxy’s space. Not the time for a boner, Dirk. In an effort to distract yourself from the surge of hormones that courses through your veins, you let your head flop onto the back of the seat and close your eyes. “So Jake.”

“Yes?”

“Ever gone clubbing?”

He clears his throat. “I’ve seen plenty of clubs in movies?” he says.

Your eyes flick open and you resign yourself to a world dominated by the fuzzy tan ceiling of the taxi. “Okay sure, but movies aren’t real life, and I’m here to warn you that it’s gonna be crowded as shit. Bros and broettes gonna be bumping and grinding and splashing their assorted bevs like it’s a motherfucking pool. I need to know if I’m gonna be playing lifeguard all night, all sexy slow-motion running to save the drowning princess only to find out that shit, princess was in another castle this whole time and now I’ve gotta platform my way across an ocean filled with half-skeleton fish in hopes of finding her again.”

“I’m...not sure I followed that,” says Jake. “If you’re worried that the crowd is going to trample me, then I can assure you I’ve been in bigger cities than Houston and have held my own just fine. A little drunken mayhem won’t kill me, Strider.”

“You’ve never been to Club Derse on a Friday night,” you say. “Make sure you hold onto Daddy’s hand so nobody picks you up and runs off with you.” The unintentional suggestiveness of your words hits you and you stare up at the ceiling in horror. Even Jake has to pick up on the way that Roxy bursts into a fit of uproarious laughter. You know now what your Bro must feel like whenever he lets a vaguely Oedipal comment slip out around Roxy’s mom.

Fabric brushes across the seat as Jake’s body presses into yours. His rough fingers slip into your hand and you’re too curious not to meet his half-lidded eyes. “That’s quite the proposition you’ve made, Strider.” Warmth snakes along your abdomen as questions leap across your mind, but then Jake’s expression breaks into a grin and he lets go of your hand to clap you on the shoulder.

You’re more than willing to climb out of the cab over Roxy to allow Jane a seat in the back while you take front passenger. You angle the air conditioner vent at your face and spend the rest of the ride in silence.

Roxy strikes up an easy conversation with Jake and Jane that occupies the three of them until the taxi comes to a stop in front of a bright sign that flashes in purple and white. She whoops and dives out of the car, followed by the others.

You pay for the ride and thank the driver before you get out as well and join your friends in line. Jake’s expression when he meets your eyes instills a fear that you have once again hurt his feelings. Against your better judgment, you hold your hand out to him and jerk your head. “What’d I say about getting lost?”

The smile that returns to his lips is magical (more magical than his lips probably are anyway). He holds his hands up in the shape of a pair of pistols and winks at you. “I’m a big boy.” You are a puddle at his feet.

Against his protests, you pay for Jake at the door. Roxy insists that you should pay for her and Jane as well, but you claim that this is an incidental cost that Jake has incurred in his line of work, and that as his pseudo-employer, it’s your responsibility to cover him. Then you flip Roxy off for good measure and lead Jake inside, where too-heavy bass reverberates off the walls in a demonstration of dismal acoustics. The dance floor is packed with twenty-somethings, who sway to the beat of the music, cups in the air. “Like they just don’t care,” you say to yourself.

“What?” Jake yells.

Roxy joins the two of you with Jane in tow. She points to an empty, roped-off booth. “I reversed a place for us!” Her face twists into frustration. “Reserred. Ree...reserved!” She takes your wrist and tugs you toward the booth. “Since you’re a wet blanket.”

“I am the dryest blanket.”

With a wink over her shoulder, Roxy says, “You’re dripping.” You’ve never been more thankful for the shitty sound system in this club. She lets Jake and Jane climb in the booth on either side of you before she perches on the edge. Her body vibrates with energy. “Lay your orders on me!”

“I’ll have a Birthday Cake,” Jane says. She pats her pocket in search of her wallet. “Let me give you my card so you can open a tab.”

Roxy shoves the proffered credit card away. “Nooo, you totally paid for mine last time, I got this. How about you, Dirk?” She takes your card without hesitation.

“Nothing for me. Hey Jake, do you drink?”

His eyes are wide with wonder at the frenzied energy of the club. “I’ve been known to partake in such pleasures. But I hardly know what there is to—”

“Get him a Liquid Marijuana on my tab,” you say.

“Diiirk,” Roxy whines. “You’re bein’ lame. Don’t be laaame.” She throws herself across the table and takes your hand. “Drink with us, it’s not like you’re drivin’!” You give her your most impassive stare and she growls. “ _Fine_ , don’t tell me what you want. I’ll get you somethin’ anyway.” She disappears toward the bar and leaves the three of you at the booth to twiddle your thumbs in anticipation.

Jane leans in close to your ear to talk. “So why are we here?”

You jerk a thumb at Jake. “This guy works too hard,” you say. “All fun and no play makes Jakey a dull boy, except I don’t think anything could actually make him dull, he’s got three thousand stories about living on a goddamn island in his back pocket so he never has to suffer one of those mythical ‘awkward silences’, the likes of which ultimately led to my existence.” You realize that Jake _is_ technically still working and feel the slightest twinge in your chest. “He can drink on the job, right?”

The look in Jane’s eye sends your stomach to the floor. She taps Jake’s hand to get his attention. “Are you carrying your weapons?”

“What?” he says, one hand cupped to his right ear.

“I said, are you carrying your weapons?”

Jake is downright offended. “Who in their right mind would carry a gun into a place like this? What if it misfired, or someone decided they wanted to use it in a barfight?”

Jane covers her polite laugh with her fingers. “As long as he isn’t armed,” she says to you.

Roxy returns with an armful of drinks, which she distributes across the table. In front of you she places a bright orange, fruit-garnished cocktail that smells heavily of peaches. Roxy got you a goddamn Sex on the Beach. She sips her own martini with a devilish smile.

Before you can stop him, Jake takes a gulp of his drink. You cringe, but he seems unaffected. He even smacks his lips in the most outrageous display of satisfaction you’ve ever seen outside of television. He drains the glass and slams it down on the table, then turns to you. “Would you mind terribly if I ordered another?”

“Go for it.” You choke down your own drink despite the way it burns all the way into the pit of your stomach. You have a feeling that drunk Jake is not someone you want to handle sober. “Get me a Sex on the Beach while you’re at it.”

Jake splutters at the name of the cocktail, but jumps out of the booth to fetch it for you.

 

* * *

 

**[>[S] Dirk: Party!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C2Z3rTcixAM) **

You’re not sure who dragged you into the mess that is the dance floor or when they did it, but you suspect that it was Roxy after your third Sex on the Beach. Roxy has Jane’s hands clasped in her own a foot away. They move in perfect synchronicity: a shimmy here, cha cha there, some dance move that Roxy likely made up on the spot but Jane mirrors anyway. Jake bounces along to the music. He’s unsteady on his feet, but still on them for now.

“Strider!” Jake says. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

You lift one shoulder up. It’s all the movement you can muster when your body feels like lead.

Light strobes over Jake’s face as his lips turn downward and you’re convinced that he’s a figure in a dream, that if you don’t memorize every pore of his skin he’ll fade away until he’s nothing but a distant memory of a pleasant thrum in your chest. He takes hold of your shoulders and you acquiesce to the rhythm he sets.

A distant corner of your mind is displeased by your willingness to relinquish control, but the part of you that is in the middle of the dance floor at Club Derse with Jake’s body inches from yours can’t be bothered to consider why it might not be wise to lose yourself in this moment.

Roxy shrieks and tumbles against you. You catch her in your arms, and she wraps hers around your neck. “My fuckin’ hero,” she says.

Behind Roxy’s head, Jake holds Jane steady. He grins at her, and she grins back. Something twists in your chest that you can’t identify when he offers Jane his hand and she takes it. They dance too close together as Roxy shakes you by your shoulders.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on with your face, Di-Stri? You look like you just swallowed a bug.” She spins around to follow your gaze. When she turns back to you, she has one hand over her mouth. “Oh noes.”

You grunt in response. Your eyes follow Jane’s arms as they snake around Jake’s shoulders, follow Jake’s hands as they rest on the dip of Jane’s waist. You love Jane (in a strictly-platonic, elder-brotherly manner), but your drink-addled mind itches to strife for possession of the fair prince in her arms.

Roxy splays a hand on your chest. “Don’t do somethin’ you'll regret.” Her hand travels to your cheek. “I'm shorry. Sssorry.”

Jane lays her head on Jake’s shoulder. You think you might have a stroke.

Jake doesn't seem to notice, or otherwise to care, because he takes Jane’s hand and spins her out into the crowd. When he pulls her back in close to him, the expression on Jane’s face is a mix between baffled and insulted. Jake continues to dance as though he didn't just implicitly reject Jane’s advances, and you wonder if there may be hope for you yet.

“I'm gonna get another drink,” you say to Roxy. “Think you can handle yourself for a few minutes?” She waves you off, so you pick your way through the crowd to the bar. You throw a leg over a stool and drum your fingers against your cheek as you wait to be served.

The man behind the bar calls the customer he just served something vaguely inappropriate before he turns to you with a scowl. He wears green suspenders over a red t-shirt and holy shit, it's _him_. Recognition dawns on his face, and he reaches for a glass, presumably to use as a weapon.

He's definitely sober and you’re definitely not, so you make the only decision that won't end with several lacerations to your beautiful face. “Can I get a Sex on the Beach?” It takes all of your effort to maintain a stoic expression.

The man relaxes and gently sets the glass in his hand on the bar. The scowl never leaves his face, but you think that might be a permanent feature. “I will need. To see some identification.” You hand him your license, and he squints at it longer than he has to in order to read your birth date. “Have we met?”

“If you’re about to drop a pick-up line on me, you can stop right there. Got people tripping over themselves and each other on their way to sweep me off my feet like an oversized broom before we fly away together, all silhouetted against the moon and cackling about the babies we’re about to eat at the stroke of midnight, but oh no, now it's a pumpkin. What pumpkin? I don't know man, it was all just a dream.”

The bartender's eyebrows draw together. “Uh?”

“I should have a tab open already, it's the one with three of these and four Liquid Marijuanas.” You sip your drink as he goes through the computer to find your tab.

“Di-Stri?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Rox gave as my name.” You reach out to ruffle his hair, anything to keep him off balance until you're out of his sight. “Turn that frown upside-down, little guy. You might be cute if you tried.”

Disgust drips from his voice as you walk away. “Get the fuck away from me. You god damn homo.”

You tense. To hell with careful avoidance of conflict. With one middle finger raised, you drain your glass and then drop it on the floor. It shatters at your feet and the man screeches. “Oops.”

“Come back here! Or I will tear off your leg! This is going on your tab!”

Roxy bursts out of the crowd. Her eyes go wide when she sees the glass scattered around you. “Omigod are you okay?”

You shrug. “You should probably go close out our tabs. I'll call a taxi.”

“Dirk, was that on purpose?” Roxy asks, one finger pointed to the ground.

The bartender whirls you around to face him. “Listen up. Motherfucker.”

You swat his hand away. “Nah.”

Roxy places herself between the two of you and holds up her hands in an attempt to placate the man. “Give him a break, he's like, super hammdered. Hadmerred. Ham...fuck it, he's drunk, ‘kay?”

The bartender narrows his eyes. “Are you the fag’s hag?”

Seconds drag by in which Roxy is too stunned to respond. Then, as if in slow motion, she socks the man in the nose. When she pulls her fist back, it's bloody. Two security guards are on her in a heartbeat. “Jane’ll have to get our cards,” she says as she’s carried to the door. You love Roxy.

Someone helps the bartender cut through the crowd and get through the employee door.

You rise onto your toes to search the dance floor for Jake and Jane. They aren't dancing anymore. In fact, Jane is livid and Jake cowers from her. How did he fuck this up so fast?

When he sees you approach, Jake hides behind you. “I fear I've upset Miss Crocker, and I haven't the slightest idea how.”

You cast Jane a questioning look, but she gestures to the phone in her pocket and says, “Later. Where’s Roxy?”

“She just got dragged out of the club by security because I pissed off the bartender. Can you get our credit cards for us?” It’s Jane’s turn to ask silent questions, so you mimic her and hold up your phone. “Later.”

Jane nods and stalks off toward the bar.

“Are we leaving then?” Jake asks.

“Yup.” You hold out your hand to him, and this time he takes it without comment. Together you wade through the throng of drunks and into the warm Houston air outside.

Roxy leans out of a cab parked at the curb and waves at the two of you.

Jake slides into the front seat.

“Yo what's up with him?” Roxy whispers into your ear

“Jane's pissed. She wouldn't tell me why in the club. I imagine we're both about to get a real earful.” You buckle your seatbelt and reach for Roxy’s hand. “Did you hurt yourself?”

She flexes her fingers and examines her knuckles, where the bartender's blood has dried. “Stung like a bitch, but it was worth it.” Roxy grins. “Nothing hurts too much for my Dirky.” She pats your cheek as Jane climbs in on her other side.

You tell the driver your address and settle into the seat. Jake stares out the window with a frown, so you wave to catch his eye. You allow your lips to turn upward ever-so-slightly, and your heart clenches so hard it misses a beat or three when he smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still at it, yo. A little bit every day goes a long way, even if sometimes it feels like I'm writing trash.
> 
> Also I know some of you already know this, but my Tumblr is [theprettytomboy](http://theprettytomboy.tumblr.com). Feel free to send asks. I will try to answer them.
> 
> I was searching for a different song but this one would sound godawful on a terrible stereo system so it was perfect.


	5. population you and me, buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **> Dirk: Deal with drunk Jake.**

This is a whole new level of clingy, even for him. You practically have to carry his ass to the elevator, where he leans against you while Jane glares daggers into the back of his head and Roxy rubs her arm. He’d seemed okay at the club, but then again Liquid Marijuana is a strong drink and you probably should have cut him off earlier than you did, because the receipt Jane handed you in the cab says that he had six rather than the four you counted. You, of course, had just as many of your own drink, not that you remember consuming them. You figure the nausea will hit about thirty seconds before you make it to your front door.

The four of you stumble into your apartment. Roxy disappears into the kitchen and turns on the tap to clean the blood off her hand. Jane makes an excuse about needing to use the bathroom and absconds down the hall, so that you and Jake are alone in the entryway.

“Sooo,” you say as you lead him into the living room. “What happened with you and Jane?” You swallow down the knot that forms in your throat. “You two looked like...you were having fun. Before I left.”

Jake flops face-down onto the couch and heaves a dramatic sigh, then turns his head to the side so that he faces you. “I thought we were! I was telling her a story about the time I went to Spain when she suddenly lost her temper.” He makes a miserable noise. “I told you, I have my foot so far up my own arse that it’s stuck in my mouth.”

You snort and sit at Jake’s feet. “I don’t think you’ve told me that in as many words.” The nausea still hasn’t caught up to you, but you sense its approach. You run a hand through your hair. “I wouldn’t try talking to her tonight. Jane’s...not a patient drunk. She’ll probably accept your apology in the morning.”

“Hmm.” Jake rolls onto his back. He drags his foot along your thigh in the process, and you’re not sure if it’s possible for that to have been an accident. “Regardless of my own failings, I want to thank you for tonight. You didn’t have to take my social ineptitude into your own hands.”

You bite back a detailed list of other things about him you’d like to take into your own hands. “Couldn’t resist. I’m the maestro of friendship, all conducting that orchestra of confidence and goodwill with my slender fingers and baton. The instruments of camaraderie wail at my command.” Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 12:42

[GG] Has he told you his side?  
[TT] Yeah.  
[GG] Ugh. He started telling me this story about a flamenco dancer he met in Spain, which was fine! He said I reminded him of the dancer. Who was a man.  
[GG] Still fine! Jake is kind of weird like that.  
[GG] But then he told me how they danced together under the full moon and how the guy stared into his eyes like he was the only person in the world.  
[TT] Wait,  
[TT] What?  
[GG] It was all very romantic! But he hardly knew the man, so he politely declined the offer to visit the man’s home and returned to the hostel where he was staying.  
[TT] Holy shit.

Roxy cackles in the other room.

You glance at Jake, who stares at you, concern displayed in the wrinkles on his forehead. He pushes himself up onto his elbows when a smirk cracks your lips. “Is it Jane? What’s she saying?”

“Don’t think it’s my place to relay the message.”

Jake whines, but doesn’t make any move for your phone.

[TT] So,  
[TT] Not to say he doesn’t deserve your ire because,  
[TT] Wow.  
[TT] But I’m pretty sure he has no idea what he was implying with that story.  
[TT] Or if he does, he’s so unrepentant that holy water would probably burn his skin.  
[GG] I just can’t help but think that even if it was unintentional, somewhere in his mind he knew?  
[GG] Like maybe that was his subconscious way of letting me down easy?  
[GG] I was dumb. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.  
[TT] Hey if you want I’ll strife Jake.  
[TT] Nobody breaks my little sister’s heart. I’ll challenge him to fight me in front of our whole grade, it’ll be legendary.  
[GG] I appreciate the offer.  
[GG] But according to Roxy, “strife” might be a euphemism for something else in this context. ;B  
[TT] Goddammit.

You hop off the couch. Jake moves to follow you, but you place a hand on his chest to keep him there. It tingles, but the alcohol in your system dulls the sensation to a bearable level. “Private sibling business,” you say.

“Does Jane hate me?” Jake asks, his voice small.

“Nah. You might wanna think twice about what stories you tell next time, though.” You waggle your eyebrows. “Sexy flamenco dancer, huh?” The way his skin flushes from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears makes your chest inflate like a helium balloon. Possibility that Jake is bisexual: plus ten. You leave him to his embarrassment and join Roxy in the kitchen. “I thought we talked about sharing details of my personal life,” you say.

Roxy rolls her eyes. “It’s _Jane_. And I figure you two can bond over the piece of man on your sofa.” She winks.

“Rox, don’t you ever watch the terrible romcoms? Rivals in love are the worst rivals of all. They tear apart communities until there’s nothing left but a flaming pile of rubble, on top of which is the corpse of the man they were fighting over to begin with. Now nobody can have him, it’s a travesty.”

Eyebrows raised, Roxy says, “What kind of romcoms have _you_ been watchin’?”

“ _Fight Club_. _F_ _atal Attraction_. Y’know, the rommiest of the coms.” Your stomach lurches and you dry heave into the sink. “Fuck, I’ve gotta go kick Jane out of the bathroom. Tell her Jake’s an idiot.”

“Tell her yourself, ‘m goin’ to bed.”

You do not have time to argue sleeping arrangements right now. “That's Jake’s room,” you call over your shoulder on the way to the bathroom.

“I can sleep on the couch!” Jake says from the living room. “The ladies deserve beds.”

Roxy grins and winks as she passes you. “What a gendlemum. Genteelmam. Gen…” She squawks her frustration and ducks into the guest bedroom.

You rap your knuckles against the bathroom door. A belch threatens to bubble up in your throat and you swallow it back down. “Jane,” you say, voice hoarse, “I need in there.” The door opens and you fall to your knees in front of the toilet. You wretch, but nothing comes out. It's going to be the worst kind of night.

“Can I get you anything?” Jane asks.

With a miserable groan, you shake your head. “Better decisions, maybe.”

Jane perches on your counter. “I think we could both do with a bit of that.”

You raise a hand to hail an imaginary clerk. “Hello, sir, could you direct us to the decisions aisle? My friend here and I want to return the heavy drinking and attraction to a really hot idiot. Maybe exchange them for basic social functioning? No refunds, you say? Where's the manager, this is a fucking outrage. I will have this place shut—” You really do vomit this time. It feels like your stomach is about to make a break for it.

On the plus side, your rant has Jane giggling beside you.

You wipe your mouth and spit. “You know Roxy was the one who recommended him as my bodyguard? Always looking out for me.” You rasp a laugh.

Jane leans back against the mirror. “She told me that. She's mad at herself because she didn't intend for him to be a competition.”

You wave your hand. “‘S no competition. For you, I mean.”

“Did you actually read my messages?” She hops off the counter and sits next to you. “You always assume everyone is off-limits and wait for them to make the first move. Or you try to influence them into making a move through some roundabout poppycock that they don't even notice.”

“Did Jake teach you that one?” you ask, eyebrow raised. When Jane simply stares back at you, you sigh. “Look, I know it's as easy as asking for you and Roxy, and that it's hard for you two to understand why I'm less...direct in my ‘flirtations’ or whatever we're calling this.” You roll your shoulders and sit back on your feet. “He’s going to be living here for who knows how long. I'm not about to _Mean Girls_ this shit and make him get in the car, loser, we're going to Broville, population you and me, buddy. If he's driving, then fuck yeah, I'm already adjusting the radio for our fly road trip. Put on some Nicki, and maybe Eminem if we're feeling it. I will provide the car and the map, hell I'll pay for the gas, but I'm not getting behind the wheel.”

Jane rises to her feet, a little unsteady. “Well, if you don’t try, you won't know.”

“You know I love you, but that doesn't actually help in this situation.” You rest your cheek against the cold plastic of the toilet lid. “Go cuddle with Roxy.”

In the corner of your vision, Jane frowns. “You know I love you too, but sometimes it's irritating that you refuse to take my advice. Or Roxy’s. It's not as different for us as you like to tell yourself it is.” She kisses your temple and squeezes past you to the door. “Good night, Dirk.”

You hum in response.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Stop drooling on the toilet seat.**

You startle awake when someone knocks on the bathroom door. You moan. What time is it and why is the right side of your face wet?

“I know you weren't feeling well, Strider, but I have a mighty need to use the facilities.” It's Jake.

After a fight against the impulse to ignore him, you reach out and twist the lock.

Jake almost hits you with the corner of the door. To his credit, he gasps and drops to his knees to examine you for injury. “I had no idea you were there. I didn't get you, did I?” His fingers trail along your bare arm and electricity sparks across your skin.

“Mmm, ‘m good,” you mumble. You reach for the toilet paper. “Seat’s wet.”

Jake leans in close to your face and studies your eyes. The gesture is intimate enough to make you uncomfortable. “Are you quite sure you're all right?”

“Lightweight,” you say.

“I can see that.”

“You were worse.”

A puff of air hits your nose when Jake chuckles. “My coordination tends to take a violent nose dive with liquor, but I don't get sick easily.” He wraps his hands around your biceps. “Need help getting up?”

You let Jake lift you to your feet and support you as you walk to your room. Jake's and your work clothes are still in two piles on the floor.

Jake lowers you onto the bed, then fetches the trash can from the other side of the room. “Is there anything I can get you while I'm up?”

“Better decisions,” you respond.

The tiniest smile spreads across his lips. “I think your decisions are just fine the way they are.” Before you can analyze what he said, Jake leaves the room and shuts your door behind himself.

You drift back to sleep with a gentle buzz underneath your skin.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Come to a sudden realization.**

Last night, Roxy punched the man who broke into your apartment.

You bolt upright in bed, and regret it an instant later. Your body feels like a vibrator that’s been flipped to the highest setting in some poor lady’s purse. The sound of the air conditioner pulses in your ears. You drop your head into your hands and take deep breaths, but that hurts too so you breathe through your nose.

You let Roxy punch a potentially dangerous criminal.

The clock on your bedside table says that it's a few minutes after five. You can't hear any movement outside your bedroom, so you assume your friends are still asleep. Your feet brush against Jake’s clothes and you remember that he was down to his boxers last night and you didn't even sneak a glance. What a waste. You have impeccable self-control.

Except for when you picked a fight with a wanted man. That might have been a poor decision on your part.

You should tell Roxy. She can get surveillance set up at the club and have the police obtain a warrant for the man’s information. He’ll probably run now that you’ve found him, even though you put on a remarkable show of not recognizing him (you always put on a remarkable show, but that’s beside the point). For the safety of everyone involved, you should tell Roxy.

You promised you would never lie to her.

Jake’s clothes are in a pile at your feet. He thinks your decisions are fine just the way they are.

Your reflection judges you through the mirror.

Jake is an idiot.

You pat your pockets for your phone, but it fell out sometime during the night. Covers thrown back, you run your hands over the sheet until you find the device. You open Pesterchum and start typing a message to Roxy.

[TT] You punched the guy. It was him.

For several minutes, you stare at the message. You erase it and start over.

[TT] I saw the perp last night. You might remember him.

You backspace again. Nothing you type feels right. You can’t get rid of the sick feeling in your stomach.

The guy can’t be that dangerous, can he? Roxy broke his nose.

Your brain is smarter than your penis. You send Roxy a message.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 5:36

[TT] Hey.

You’ll work up to the admission.

Roxy doesn’t respond. She’s probably snuggled up against Jane in the guest room, snoring like she does when she’s had too much to drink. You don’t know how much she had to drink last night. All you remember is the first martini, but you wouldn’t trust your memory. You hope she didn’t manage to poison herself.

You wonder if Jane is all right. She had several shots too.

The buzz under your skin intensifies. You lay back down and close your eyes.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Smell the bacon.**

Jane must be up.

You roll out of bed and see the light that blinks on your phone, so you open Pesterchum.

[TG] yo  
[TG] wut did u want?

timaeusTestified [TT] is now an idle chum!

[TG] dirk y  
[TG] hey janeys makin brekfsat  
[TG] *breakfast  
[TG] dirk  
[TG] dirky  
[TG] di-stri  
[TG] hey u  
[TG] k u probs need the sleep

tipsygnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified[TT]

There’s quiet chatter in the kitchen. You find Jane at the stove, where she flips bacon and an omelet with expert ease. Roxy sits on the counter and cradles a glass of orange juice (you don’t keep alcohol at home, so it’s probably not a screwdriver this morning). Jake rummages in your cabinets for tableware. All three of them turn when you enter the room.

“Morning,” you say.

Roxy leaps off the counter into your arms. “You’re alive!”

“Uh...yeah?” Your heart sinks when you remember why you pestered her this morning.

Jake stretches onto his toes to reach for some plates on a top shelf. You notice his (your) shirt is gone, and study the way his muscles move under his skin.

“You had a lot to drink. I should have stopped you.”

You pat Roxy on the back and take a deep breath to slow your runaway pulse. “You aren’t my mother, Rox.” Jake’s fingertips only brush the plates, so you extricate yourself from Roxy’s death grip and pull the plates down yourself.

Jake smiles. He must have made up with Jane while you slept. You wonder how well that went. “Thanks, Strider.” He gathers the dishes and presents them to Jane one at a time as she piles them with food made from ingredients that definitely hadn’t been in your apartment yesterday.

Together, you make your way into the living room and squeeze onto the couch. Jake sits next to you, and Roxy places herself on his other side. Jane sits at the far end. You eat in silence until Roxy can’t stand it and turns on Netflix to a horrible reality show.

Roxy relegates you to cleanup duty. “It’s your house and I am an honored guest,” she says. Whenever you stay at her place, it’s the opposite.

While you fill up the sink, Jane joins you. “I did make a mess of your kitchen, after all.” The two of you spend thirty minutes up to your elbows in dirty water. Your brain does a series of logical back flips to avoid any mention of the man at the club. Your stomach joins with its own infinite pirouette.

Jane and Roxy take turns in the bathroom before they announce that they’re leaving. They each hug you. Roxy hugs Jake too, but Jane only waves at him, a slight flush on her cheeks. The moment they’re out the door, you realize you’ve made your choice about the man at the club.

Jake asks where he can do his laundry, and you remember what he said about your decisions. How could he be wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter! Dirk and Jane actually talking about Jake while it's still relevant is my favorite.
> 
> My tumblr is [theprettytomboy](http://theprettytomboy.tumblr.com).
> 
> I'm going to be late to school today because I edited this. I love this story. You're welcome.


	6. just dudes being bros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  [MF Sushi](http://www.yelp.com/biz/mf-sushi-houston-2)

**> Dirk: Tinker.**

A mess of wires and metal is scattered on your desk, and the blueprint for the left foot of your android project peeks out from beneath them. For now, you only have the pieces to build the skeletal structure and wire the most basic ability to flex, but you have to start somewhere.

Jake is downstairs with his laundry, has been for half an hour. It almost feels lonely in your apartment without his voice to fill the space, but you’ve lived alone for years. Longer, if you count all the times your Bro left you to fend for yourself while he worked to put a bigger and better roof over your heads.

The scraps you’ve gathered are far too large to fit together as they are, and you lament your decision to live in an apartment where you can’t legally make use of your more dangerous power tools. Roxy’s garage houses the equipment you couldn’t keep at home, but without Jake, you aren’t going anywhere. You fiddle with the scraps for a few more minutes, write numbers on pieces so you can identify their future position in the foot, before you put everything away and pull out your laptop. It might not be possible to build the body, but there is still considerable work to be done on the A.I. you plan to use. You wrote some of the code years ago as a joke to yourself. The A.I. was an auto-responder that worked in tandem with Pesterchum (the joke was that you didn’t have any friends).  The code is messy and barely functional, with half the original lines commented out because they were buggy as fuck, but the main method you wrote is still a usable outline for social function, albeit oversimplified.

You hope for the A.I. to be able to generate thought, but that will require you to understand English syntax and enter the better part of a dictionary into the program. It’s this reality that has deterred you from working on the project. Your hubris tells you that you’re capable, but your common sense tells you that you could sink years into the android with little to no progress. You open Pesterchum on your laptop and execute the program.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 12:17

[TT] Anyone there?  
[TT] Yes.  
[TT] How’s it hanging?  
[TT] Interesting.  
[TT] God damn you are a shitty program.  
[TT] Yes.

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] 

You run a hand through your hair and sigh. Past you is a disappointment. You open your Typheus browser to Amazon and search for syntax textbooks and dictionaries, both formal and slang. An unabridged English dictionary alone costs almost two hundred dollars. By the time you're satisfied with the breadth of your selection, your cart totals nearly four hundred dollars. You cringe. Money isn't a concern anymore, but the scars left by a childhood of poverty still sting when you make expensive purchases (except your katana, that was worth every penny).

Warm, moist air tickles your neck as you click to place your order. Jake whistles. “That’s quite a lot of money, Strider. You must be swimming in the stuff.”

“Famous brother, remember?” You lean back in your chair, and note that Jake doesn’t budge. “Besides, I’m a robotics engineer. I make mad bank.”

Jake huffs a laugh. “I believe that’s what I said.” He perches on an empty edge of the table. “My grandma sold her schematics to fund her adventures, and later to raise me on the island. I imagine if she’d had the singular passion for robotics that you do, she could have become a name in the history books.” He eyes the blueprint you pushed aside earlier. “May I?” he asks, one hand extended toward the paper.

You nod. “Just be careful.”

“I am a paradigm of care!” Jake pushes his glasses up onto his head and holds the blueprint too close to his face. You wish he wouldn’t rub his nose against it like that because the oil could smudge your lines, but your brain is too busy with the idea of his nose pressed against yours to protest. His eyes meet yours over the top of the paper and his skin crinkles at the edges. “This is right impressive, you know.”

Your heart batters your ribcage. “That’s not even the good part. Got hells of better blueprints all locked up tight in my safe. I’d share, but I’m just one of those mysterious types. Gotta maintain an aura of intrigue around me or the whole deal is blown sky high and it turns out I was just John Everyman the whole time, nothing to see here folks.” Your little finger clips the side of your laptop when you make a sweeping gesture. You swear and shake your hand to alleviate the pain.

Jake’s teeth are radiant white, and you wonder where he received dental care as a kid. “You are an inscrutable character, Dirk Strider. Most definitely not transparent as a newly-cleaned window.”

A cough replaces the words you had planned to say. Your throat tightens and sweat slicks your palms. You try your best to maintain your composure when you find your voice again. “What?”

The corner of Jake’s mouth turns up. “You really want me to think you’re a cool fellow, yet every time you do or say anything genuinely winsome, you follow it with an insincere lot of ironic posturing. As if I wouldn’t think it’s cool that you’re an ordinary human being with an ordinary need to be liked.” He lays a hand on your shoulder. “I’m beyond pleased with my post as your bodyguard. I couldn’t ask to have made a better acquaintance than yours.”

Conflicting emotions battle for precedence, because while you’re ecstatic (in a painstakingly blank-faced sort of way) that Jake enjoys your company, disappointment pools in your lungs and hinders your breathing. Of course, you’re an “acquaintance” to Jake. The two of you have lived together for less than a week. You can’t help but respond to the fondness in his expression. “I probably would have kicked anyone else out by now, SBURB be damned.”

 

* * *

 

**Weeks in the future, but not many…**

You lounge on the couch with your feet in Jake’s lap, syntax textbook in hand. The subject might be more interesting if the book didn’t read like a trek through a mud pit. Underwater. On Saturn. You’ve seen “i.e.” used more times in the first chapter than you’ve seen the abbreviation used in the first twenty-six years of your life. You’re tempted to set the book aside and watch whatever terrible movie Jake discovered on Netflix, but you can feel the android slip away with every second that you don’t progress toward its completion.

Jake jumps when a face fills the screen. His eyes are wide and fearful, but locked onto the T.V. regardless. This is the first horror movie he’s watched since he moved in (that you know of), and you relish the twitch of his muscles whenever he anticipates a jumpscare.

Your focus is on the lam. You sigh and set the textbook down on the coffee table, then stick a socked foot in Jake’s face. “Hey Brokovsky, what are we watching?” He shushes you with a wave of his hand, so you kick him in the head hard enough to be understood as a challenge.

Jake grabs your leg and pulls you halfway across the couch so your ass is flush against his thigh and oh, okay. Only Jake could make such a bold move and still maintain plausible deniability. He tucks your leg under one arm and fixes you with a stern glare. “I'm trying to fully appreciate this fine piece of cinema, Strider.” Your name on his lips sends a craving for Netflix and chill straight up your spine.

“See I'd believe you if you hadn't specifically searched for a movie with a one-star rating.” You wriggle against his grasp with little success. The last thing you want is to pop an awkward boner while in the arms of your best bro. “Strife me for the remote control.”

At long last Jake drops your leg, which steeples over his lap. He throws his arms into the air. “You always win, though!”

“Duh,” you say with a crooked smirk. You prop yourself up on your elbows. “Tell you what, if you turn off the ketchup slasher, I'll buy you dinner.”

Jake scoffs. “I haven't bought my own dinner since I started this job.”

One finger pointed toward the hall, you say, “I will take you out to whatever fancy restaurant you want to try if you shut off the T.V. and get dolled up.”

“Are you bribing me with a dinner date?”

Be cool, Dirk. Be cool. “Gotta keep the bromance alive,” you say. “If I don't treat you every once in a while you'll start to get all emotionally vulnerable and run off to other bros for passionless flings, all so you can feel the rush of fraternity with your fellow man that we lost decades ago when the kids were born. It'll be the saddest bromance ever recorded for posterity. Bros will weep crocodile tears at our tale of tragedy until the Earth is engulfed in the flames of the sun. And after that aliens will discover the vestiges of humanity and it'll just be you and me, throwing away a beautiful brolationship because I never took you out to dinner.”

Jake’s nose crinkles as he laughs. “All right, all right. Can't have our failure be the only hint of humankind left behind for the extraterrestrials now, can we?”

He disappears into the hall and you follow until you turn into your own room so you can throw on a less wrinkled shirt.

After a quick knock on the doorframe, Jake joins you. “Am I allowed to go out in this, or are you going to destroy my suitcase again in the name of fashion?” He tugs at the ends of his black shirtsleeves as you look him up and down.

“Don’t you own any ties?” you ask. “It’s okay, but it says something closer to ‘first job interview’ than ‘hot dinner date with my best bro’.”

Jake spins in a circle as he attempts to examine his attire before you point him to the mirror. He smooths the shirt against his chest (your fingers ache with the need to do it for him) and tilts his head. “They're just a bunch of cloth, Strider. I don’t suppose they say much at all.”

A grin pulls the corner of your lips and you chuckle. “Okay, let me put it this way.” You move behind him and place your hands on his shoulders. His eyes find yours in the glass. “When I see you dressed like this, I think of a kid who’s learning the ins and outs of looking rad. What I _want_ to see is the put-together gentleman who knows he's sexy in a suit and tie.” The past few weeks have been an experiment. How forward can you be before Jake catches on? Let's find out. You release him and open the top drawer of your dresser. “Lesson one: pick a tie that matches what you're already wearing.” The tie Jake pulls out sends you into hysterics. “Dude no.”

“What?” Skeletons dance around pumpkins on the tacky Halloween-print tie in his hands. “I think this one is spiffy. The others are all so _boring_.”

You pull a plain white skinny tie out of the drawer. “This one will make you look more sophisticated.”

“Well _this one_ will make me look more like myself!” Jake retorts. He slings the fabric around his neck and huffs. “I'm not like you, Strider. I'm not all that worried about what other people think of my appearance.” He twists the tie into a knot and frowns. “What am I doing wrong here?”

Your eyebrows rise above your shades. “Didn't your grandma teach you how to dress yourself?”

Jake splutters. “I can put on a shirt and pants and tie my shoes just fine! This,” he says with a gesture to the tie, “is a lot of hogwash.”

A moment passes as you debate the merits of further argument over his tie choice. Then you shake your head and undo the unsightly knot at his throat. You rework the tie into a True Love knot.

Even though the gesture is lost on Jake, the knot is complicated enough that he whistles when you step back to let him take a look. “I don’t care what you say, Strider, you're a wizard and I'm onto you.”

You wiggle your fingers. “Got some sicknasty chucklevoodoos stored in these beauties that only come out when I'm dressing another dude.” Or undressing, but even now you don't think that comment would go unnoticed. You wear the white tie yourself with an ordinary Double Windsor. Anything else is entirely too formal for a midweek dinner date between a couple of bros. “You wanna take a taxi? Drinks can be on me too.”

“I don’t especially fancy the idea of a hangover at work. Let's drive.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Sake and dine.**

Jake can't make up his mind—“There are just so many adventures for my tongue to embark on!” (you try not to snicker)—so you direct him back home and walk to a high end Japanese restaurant a block away from where you live in the museum district, which may or may not have influenced your decision of which apartment to buy (it totally did).

“Wowzers,” Jake says. He marvels at the sleek decor and inhales so deeply you’re afraid his lungs will pop. “This place smells absolutely heavenly!”

The host leads the two of you to a booth with a view of the sushi bar, where a chef prepares the next dish of a group's  _omakase_. You wish you’d made a reservation and make a mental note to bring Jake back sometime for a real sushi experience.

Jake studies his menu with open frustration. He holds it up to his nose and squints, and after a while lowers it back to the table, his lips twisted downward.

You take the menu from his hands. “Let me order for you.” When the waiter returns, you rattle off a wide variety of dishes for Jake and yourself, among them an expensive beef _toban yaki_. You expect Jake will like to watch it cook on the tiny _robata_ (as long as he doesn’t know how much the dish costs). The restaurant is quiet tonight, and you’re grateful. You take a sip of your lychee martini.

Jake fidgets in his seat, plays with his tie, and casts glances at the other patrons.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing.” He drinks his own martini—“It’s a tongue adventure, you’ve gotta try it.”—and sighs. “I feel out of place,” he admits. “I should have listened to you instead of being so pig-headed about this blasted tie.”

You snort. “Well, I won’t argue with you on that last part because as we both know I am the fashion god, it’s me, and you are an insolent mortal to reject my advice.” You sit back in the booth and prop a foot on his seat. “But trust me, there’s tourists show up in t-shirts to this place, it’s hella lame and they look like assholes. You’re a goddamn swan among ducklings.” Only after the words leave your mouth do you remember the swan was the ugly one in that story. “Wait uh…”

The laugh that escapes Jake’s lips is too loud for the setting. “I understood what you meant, Strider, and I appreciate the sentiment.” He places a foot on your seat, and you start to tickle his ankle when someone sidles up to your table and slams a hand down in front of you.

“Long time no see, babe.” Cronus Ampora leers at you. He wears the same sort of white t-shirt and too-tight jeans that you remember he wore in college. His hair is slicked back just as douchily as ever. “Vwho’s this?”

Cronus starts to lean over the table toward Jake, but you throw out an arm to stop him. “If you touch him, I will break your wrist.”

“Kinky as ewver I see. This the new beau?”

You swerve the conversation away from that slippery slope so fast you jump the median (you _may_ not have gotten around to admitting your affinity for men to Jake just yet). “Shouldn’t you be attached to Kankri’s dick or something?”

“Ooh, still sore about that, are vwe?” Cronus pats your cheek and tosses you a sleazy grin, so you grab his wrist and turn it back until he winces. “I inwvited you to join us.”

“Fuck off.” You hate your fingers for the way they spark against his skin, so you jerk your hand back and let it rest on Jake’s foot.

Cronus throws his hands up. “Vwow. I try to be polite when I see my ex in public, and vwhat do I get? Threatened! You’wve got some real shit to vwork through, Dirk. I can tell you still vwant me. Hovw’s it feel to brick up your baser urges?”

Jake’s eyes are wide as he looks between the two of you. “Um? I feel like I’m missing a good portion of this conversation?”

“Holy shit.” Cronus barks a laugh. “You asked this guy on a date and he doesn’t knovw? That’s pretty fucked up, ewven for you.” Your waiter clears their throat behind Cronus, and he pastes on a charming smile. “I’ll get outta your vway. Hawve a nice date, babe.” He pats your hand and winks before he disappears around a corner.

Silence reigns while the waiter places a fabulous array of sushi on your table. They bid you a good meal and return to the sushi bar to gather their next table’s order.

You pick up a pair of chopsticks and shove a lobster tempura roll into your mouth to avoid any discussion of Cronus’s unwanted appearance.

For a while, Jake follows suit, although he gives pleased exclamations about everything that enters his mouth. Your heart hurts. He takes another sip of his drink and then levels his gaze with you. “So who was that fellow?”

You take your time and savor the _sake nigiri_ on your tongue until Jake frowns. Defeated, you run a hand through your hair. “Cronus. My roommate from college. I’m sorry you had to get caught in his bullshit.”

Jake shrugs. “I can see you don’t like him very well.”

“Bad history.”

“Ex-boyfriend?”

“Ugh.” You drop your head into your hands, elbows on the table and everything. Fuck etiquette, this is a crisis. You sneak a look at Jake and weigh the possibility that you could get away with a lie. You sigh and say, “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Jake eats a slice of beef, but his eyes never leave you. He swallows. “He doesn’t really seem your type.” He sets his chopsticks down and smiles. “But I suppose we all make mistakes from time to time. Stop looking like I’m about to have a fit and take a bite of this.” He pushes the _toban yaki_ toward you.

You concede. The beef is as succulent as ever. “He was kind of right,” you say.

Jake waves your admission away. “Nonsense. If you didn’t feel comfortable telling me, then that’s my fault. I told you I fancied Spider-Girl the day we met! Heavens, I wouldn’t have said anything either if I were you.” He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “We’re friends no matter who makes you hot under the collar.”

Your stomach sinks, but you force a small smile regardless. “Sure are. Just dudes being bros.” You return to your food in companionable silence.

Later, as Jake passes through the front door on your way out, he asks, “How in the world did you end up _dating_ Cronus, if I might ask?”

“Oh god please don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Dirk likes dressing his partners almost as much as he likes _un_ dressing them.
> 
> I spent way more time researching the restaurant than I did writing the restaurant scene.
> 
> TIL while writing this chapter, the liechi berry in Pokemon is named after a lychee in real life, which I didn't know existed until now. Also Saturn is the only planet in our solar system with a higher gravitational pull than Earth.


	7. i see that suggestive wink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Ohhh yeaaah.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SU0Ypufo6BM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, I've settled on a rating and that rating is E.

**> Dirk: Panic.**

Today forensics is supposed to fax the results of the fingerprints they ran from your apartment. Jane promised to let you know when they come in. Your stomach protests every time you ponder what Roxy will do when she finds out the fingerprints match the bartender she punched last month. You focus on the new draft for your e-skin prototype. The LED lights in the last one didn't activate with pressure, which rendered the prototype useless for experimentation. 

Jake spins beside you in the computer chair he stole from Roxy’s office, head tilted toward the ceiling. He knows not to interrupt you when you draw blueprints. Two hours pass this way. Jake gets bored and swivels his chair to face you. “I’m starting to get a mite peckish. I think I’ll head to the cafeteria here post-haste.”

Without a word, you pull your lanyard up over your head and toss it to him. “Bring me something too.”

“The usual?” You nod, and he exits the lab at a jaunty gait.

You finish the blueprint and set it aside. Your supervisor has to check the schematic before you can build again, something about the prevention of dangerous experimentation. As if you will ever create something you can’t control. You sigh and turn to stare at the door of the security office until Jake drops a sandwich, Doritos, and Mountain Dew in your lap.

“Anxious to hear the news?” he asks.

“Something like that.” You take too large a bite of your sandwich and choke. Jake pats your back until you catch your breath long enough to take a swig of your soda. “I don’t even care about the guy anymore. He’s probably fucked off to a private Caribbean island or something by now, I mean, the robberies took place one right after another. Seems like I was the last one.” You crunch a chip between your teeth. “It’s just a waste of time if you ask me.”

Jake chews his own lunch, quiet in thought. “Well I don’t suppose SBURB wants this fellow running around regardless. Who knows when he could pop up again! I know the robberies were nonviolent in the past, but someone could get hurt.” You hate that he’s right.

The day drags on. Your internal clock ticks the seconds away with painful clarity and you hardly notice when your supervisor approves your blueprint.

Jake notices your agitation and asks several times if you're all right before he gives up and visits Roxy and Jane in their offices.

You jump every time someone passes behind you, tensed for the moment Jane requests your presence.

But five o’clock rolls by, and Jake returns to your side, ready to drive you home. “I've a mind to march to the station myself and demand those results!” he says as he leads you to the SUV. “Poor Jane was pulling her hair out by the handfuls from the anticipation.” He opens your door and steps back to let you climb into the car. “She was on the phone when I left. Something about Cherubim.”

You frown. “Cherubim Industries is SBURB’s main competitor. What the hell did they want with Jane?”

Jake shrugs and shuts your door. He climbs into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition. “I haven't the faintest. She shooed me out of her office.”

You dig out your phone.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] at 5:09

[TT] What does Cherubim want?

gutsyGumshoe [GG] is now an idle chum!

[TT] Let me know if you need someone to ninja their way into the headquarters. I bet Jake would come too.

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]

“Looks like she's still busy,” you say.

The next few days pass in a similar manner. Jane rarely leaves her office, and every time Jake checks on her, he returns a few minutes later and shakes his head. You ignore the knot that your internal organs twist themselves into as best you can. The new e-skin prototype occupies your hands, but you’ve rebuilt it so many times that your mind disengages the moment you pick up your tools. After a week without news, you’re coiled so tight you might snap.

Jake wears earbuds and watches Netflix on his phone, his plain desk chair (the rolling computer chair was confiscated by your supervisor when your colleagues complained) tipped so far back that you worry he’ll crack his head open on the concrete floor.

The prototype is complete and the LED lights respond to touch the way you want, so you hunch over an experimentation release form like a proud father about to send his child out into the world. At least you _would_ be like a proud father if you were impressed by your work. You wish the chem lab would cooperate with you and develop a self-healing substance to coat the outside of the e-skin, because right now your design is only practical until it’s damaged. You’ve filed more requests than you can count, but to no avail. Finished release form in hand, you rise from your seat.

Jake catches your shirtsleeve and pulls out an earbud. “Where are you off to? I don’t believe the cafeteria is open just yet.”

You wave the stapled stack of papers. “I’m turning in my homework.”

“Can you check on Jane while you’re up? I’d go myself, but I don’t know that my poor ticker can handle any more disappointment.”

“Sure thing bromide,” you say. Your tone is flat, but the coil inside you cracks a hair. You deliver the form to the appropriate box, then walk to the security office. The bones in your legs melt with every step you take until you’re convinced that you’ve contracted a rare disease that requires immediate attention. You knock on the doorframe of Jane’s office and peek inside. Jane isn’t on the phone, and you know you should be glad to catch her in a rare moment of peace, but your joints creak in protest as you approach her desk. “How’s it hanging?”

The bright light from the monitor illuminates the dark circles under Jane’s eyes. She groans and slumps over her keyboard.

“By the toes?” you ask.

She nods. “I’m sorry I haven’t answered your message. I’ve been so swamped since she called last week.”

“She?”

“Liaison from Cherubim.” Jane gestures to her computer. “The police discovered that our break-ins are related to a rash of burglaries from Cherubim factories. Don’t,” she says as she cradles her head in her hands, “tell anyone please.”

“Man Jane, I can’t promise that. You know me, Mr. Barry Blabbermouth.” You sit in the chair across from her. “Do they have any suspects?”

Jane’s eyes snap to the computer screen in front of her. She types so fast her fingers are a blur. “Sorry Dirk, time to go.”

“Kicked out of my sister’s office before my ass hits the chair. I am appalled, Miss Cro—”

“Now, Dirk.”

You acquiesce without another word and return to your desk. Along the way you grab another request form for the chem lab.

Jake hovers around you as you settle back into your seat. “Did you get a chance to speak with her? How is she?” His eyes are filled with concern, and the jealous corner of your brain bristles.

“Tired,” you say. You write your request in careful, looping letters. The chem supervisor might read it if it’s legible.

“Anything else?”

You mime a zipper across your lips. “Top secret. If I told you, she’d have to kill me.”

“Balderdash.”

“Would I lie to you about this?” you ask, your voice grave.

Eyes narrowed, Jake says, “I do believe your would try to pull the wool over my eyes regarding such dire consequences for a little gossip, Strider.” He takes your free hand between both of his own. Pleasant vibrations hum across your skin. “Give me something to go on! I’m worried sick that the police haven’t released the results yet. What if the man is right under our noses? I can’t protect you if I don’t know who I’m watching for.”

Your eyes slide over to him. A small smile plays at your lips. “I don’t know how conclusive the results were, but there has been a development. Jane’s working on it.” You pull your hand from Jake’s grip and ruffle his hair as he squawks and shoves you away.

Several of your colleagues look up from their work, open curiosity on their faces. The past month has been increasingly filled with expressions like these from many of your coworkers as you and Jake have become better friends. The last time you went to the cafeteria, the cashier didn’t flutter her eyelashes like she has since you started working for SBURB, and someone initiated a betting pool a couple weeks ago while you were in the bathroom (you know because Roxy admitted that she placed a sizeable bet). On what exactly, you don’t know, but you have some ideas.

You turn back to the request form and ignore your colleagues’ stares.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Netflix and chill.**

You _could_ read the syntax textbook, or you could watch _My Little Pony_ with Jake. You go with the latter option. You've seen every episode a handful of times, so you pester Roxy while Jake is occupied.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 6:51

[TT] Heard anything out of Jane?  
[TG] not much y  
[TT] I got to talk to her a little this morning. Top secret business with Cherubim.  
[TG] wait rly  
[TG] im pretty sure the rivalry is liek  
[TG] written in the bylaws or somethin  
[TG] *like  
[TT] Shouldn’t Jane be keeping you up to date on all of this?  
[TG] trust me dirk i tried but janey said the leeayzon  
[TG] lmao how do u even spell that  
[TG] made a deal with her  
[TT] Liaison.  
[TG] yeah that  
[TG] the liaision wont talk unless its hush hush  
[TG] cause of the news or whatevs  
[TG] n its not like were adversitn that u got ur ass robbed  
[TG] *advertisin  
[TT] My ass is right where I want it, thanks.  
[TG] lmao  
[TG] but ur totes rite idk y i dont kno nuthin  
[TG] im part of security too :(

Jake nudges you. The current episode is paused, Rainbow Dash frozen mid-flight. “You said you’d watch with me today.”

“I’m getting the downlow from Roxy.”

You have Jake’s attention. He scrambles closer and wraps his hands around your phone, so you let him see the conversation with Roxy. To your horror, he punches a message into Pesterchum and sends it.

[TT] Have you heard anything about the scoundrel that burgled striders blueprints?  
[TG] oh hey jake  
[TG] nah idk anythin yet  
[TG] far as i kno the popo dont either  
[TT] Drat.  
[TG] drat indeed  
[TG] so is dirky readin over ur shoulder  
[TG] all snuggled up together on the sofa with the netflix on ;)  
[TT] I see that suggestive wink and i can assure you there is nothing for you to suggest!

You grapple with Jake for possession of the phone before Roxy can embark on her lewd line of questioning.

“Oh come off it, Strider, we’re only jesting!” Jake wrests your phone away and rolls over the back of the couch. The neighbors will file a complaint for sure.

[TT] a;lksjdf;lksjd  
[TG] omg r u guys strifin or wut  
[TT] It appears strider is opposed to our conversation.  
[TG] yo jake whens ur bday  
[TG] im gonna get u ur own phone  
[TG] y dont u have one anyway  
[TT] ;ljsdalkjasljkasfd;ljasd;lkjasd;l;jasdfkll;kjafsd  
[TT] Have a good evening, Rox.

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering  tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

[TG] laaame

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

You stand victorious above Jake on the kitchen counter. He swipes for the phone that you dangle above his head, but even without the added height he doesn’t stand a chance. You smirk down at him.

Lips pushed forward in a pout, Jake whines. “That’s not fair.”

“Would you rather strife for it?”

He huffs. “No.” A twinkle lights his eye, and before you can react, Jake wraps his arms around your legs and lifts you off the counter.

You lose your balance and fall over his shoulder. Your face lands an inch to the left of his knee, the breath knocked out of your lungs by the impact of your chest against his backside. “Jake what the fuck.” Your phone is still safe in your hand, and now Jake has no way to grab for it. “You didn’t think this through, did you?” Blood rushes to your head. You’re dizzy already.

“I don’t think much of anything through. It’s part of my charm.”

You chuckle. “Keep telling yourself that, buddy.” You aren’t about to admit that he’s spot on. Jake exits the kitchen and your stomach lurches. “Wheeere are you taking me?” The hall swims into view as you’re carried through your apartment.

In a single fluid movement, Jake hefts you back over his shoulder and onto your mattress. He grins over your breathless form, pleased with himself, and holds out his hand. “Let me talk to Roxy. Pretty please?”

Danger lights flash behind your eyes. You want nothing more than to pull Jake down on top of yourself and kiss him soundly on those stupid lips, but you’re a grown adult who is capable of resisting the temptation. You toss your phone at him and sigh when he leaves you alone to deal with hormone levels that rival your freshman year of college. With the immediacy of Jake’s presence gone, you hop off the bed and pull a clean pair of pajama pants out of your dresser. “I’m taking a shower!”

“Don’t you think it’s a little early for that?” Jake asks from the living room.

“It’s never too early for hygiene,” you say as you throw the door closed and lock it. You turn on the water as hot as you can stand it and let the bathroom fill up with steam while you undress. Your skin is flushed in patches from your clavicles up, and it has nothing to do with the heat of the room. The water stings when you step under the stream. You shampoo your hair and soap up your body in hopes that your shower ritual will distract you from the memory of your back against the mattress and Jake above you. Instead you imagine that Jake’s hands smooth the soap along your chest and shoulders. Pleasure prickles your skin when you trail a hand down you stomach. You swallow hard as you stroke your dick, careful to avoid the head (flashbacks of painful urination send a shudder down your spine, and not a pleasurable one). Your lungs struggle to draw a ragged breath and your head swims from the napalm that pools along your pelvis. You brace one hand against the wall as imaginary Jake trails kisses up your spine, wraps his arms around your torso, and breathes your name into your ear. Tension builds in your thighs and your legs shake with the effort of standing. White burns its way through your body, each nerve a pure point of light as the energy surges toward your head. The room around you disappears and a single moan tears its way out of your throat despite your attempt to bite it back. Your chest is on fire when the first shock of orgasm wracks your body. The lucid part of your foggy mind winces at the breathless sounds you make as your dick softens in your hand. Semen swirls down the drain (you’ll have to clean the shower) as you rinse off the soap that clings to your skin.

You emerge from the bathroom in orange skateboard-print pajama pants, towel wrapped around your hair.

Jake’s fingers tap away at your phone. He looks up when you clear your throat. “It’s about time you were done in there. I was starting to wonder if you’d drowned.”

“Can I have my phone back?” you ask.

“Sure thing.” Jake hops up and delivers the device into your hands. Then he reaches up and tugs the towel from its precarious perch atop your head.

There’s nothing you can do to hide the tumble of curls he releases. You fix Jake with the most unimpressed stare you can manage as a smile cracks his face.

“I thought Roxy was pulling my leg.” Jake pulls a curl straight and watches with delight as it springs back into a perfect coil. “Why in the world would you straighten such magnificent locks?”

You heave a long-suffering sigh. “Because everyone feels compelled to play with them.” You sweep your hair out of your eyes and rip the towel from Jake’s unresisting grasp. Without another word, you start for your room before Jake can run his fingers through your hair like you hope he will. You open Pesterchum and read the last few messages of Jake and Roxy’s exchange.

[TG] hey jakey do me a favor when he gets out  
[TT] And what favor would that be?  
[TG] steal his dumb towel  
[TG] u will LUV his hair i promise  
[TT] Roxy are you trying to instigate another altercation?  
[TG] no im serious  
[TG] jake bby  
[TG] u HAVE  
[TG] to see his hair  
[TG] it is bootyful  
[TG] i misspelled that one on poruse  
[TG] lol *purpose  
[TT] Here he comes.  
[TG] good luck  
[TG] dont get punched too hard  
[TT] Roxy.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

[TT] Goddammit Roxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I write so many pesterlogs. Why.
> 
> I wrote the whole 200 word sex scene at work this afternoon. I don't usually write sex buuut tbh I had originally anticipated it happening in chapter five. But then Roxy and Jane came home too. Maybe I will become more comfortable with writing sex scenes by the time I get to bigger ones. Who knows? (P.S. I'm sorry lmao.)


	8. undeniably down with the d

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I cannot implore enough that you click this link.](https://youtu.be/jlrdoREsbzA?t=90)

**> Dirk: What the fuck is with these guys?**

The frontmost member of the group is one of SBURB’s public relations managers, followed closely by a woman in a green pantsuit with a Cherubim logo stitched into her lapel and a couple other unfamiliar people who you assume are also representatives from Cherubim. They remain on the outskirts of the lab, but manage to distract you all the same.

Jake leans close to whisper in your ear. “Do you suppose that's her?” he asks, a finger pointed not-so-subtly at the woman in the pantsuit.

You shrug. “Could be.” Selfish though it is, you hope she hasn't brought any more news of the break-ins. “Guess we'll find out when Jane gets here.”

“I wonder why she's so behind today?” An expression of fear mars Jake’s face. “You don't think…”

“I'm sure she's fine.” You hand your phone to him. “If it'll make you feel any better, you can pester her.” When the tour group disappears down a hallway toward the chem lab, you turn back to your newest project: glasses with the ability to transmit ocular data to the brain, sans invasive surgery. Your current draft is of plain glasses because your supervisor didn't approve of the previous design, despite its superior fashionability (the previous design was your shades).

For a while Jake is silent as he stares at your phone. The crestfallen expression he wears tells you Jane has yet to respond. It's admittedly unusual for Jane to be late to work at all, let alone late by over an hour. You can only hope that she encountered some benign obstacle on her way and that she'll waltz into her office any minute now. Jake jumps halfway out of his seat and juggles your phone when it starts to vibrate in his hands, too insistent to be a notification from Pesterchum. He reads the name that lights up your screen and frowns, then hands you the phone.

It's Bro.

You slide the answer button and hold the speaker up to your ear. “Yo.”

“‘Sup,” he responds, voice level and nonchalant as always.

“I'm at work,” you say as you stand. You hold a finger up to Jake and leave the laboratory so your conversation doesn’t disturb you coworkers. You and Jake manage that fine on your own. “What did you need?”

Bro shuffles his phone to the other ear. A final boarding call overpowers the general hubbub in the background.

You groan. “I am not taking off work to pick you up at the airport, Bro. You're a goddamn celebrity, buy yourself a cab.”

“Shot down by my own flesh and blood,” he begins. You roll your eyes. “Abandoned in a big scary airport all by my lonesome without a soul in the world to hold my hand. However will I manage to escape this hellhole without the support of my baby bro? Where did I go wrong in raising you? I thought I had emphasized the whole ‘respect your elders’ thing pretty damn well, but it seems I was mistaken. Next I know you'll sign me over to a nursing home where I'll live out the remainder of my days in a rocking chair, pondering the mistakes I made, waiting in vain for your next visit.”

“Are you done?”

Bro huffs a laugh. “Well I _was_ , but your sass has got me all inspired now. Rap-off, you and me, right now.” He lays down a beat and you imagine the baffled stares of passers-by.

“What part of me being at work was so hard to understand?” You shift your weight to the opposite hip and lean back against the wall.

“You’re the one who answered me.”

“Only because you would have written me a novel of grievance this year instead of sending me a birthday card.” The clock on the wall says you've spent way too much time on this conversation. “Did you want to meet for dinner tonight or something?”

“Invite the girls over and I'll provide the catering.”

“Yeah, about that.” You brace yourself for a derisive monologue. “Be sure to get enough for five.”

Long seconds pass without a response. You cringe when Bro speaks again. “Okay cool. See you at six.” The line clicks and goes silent before you get a chance to explain the whole Jake situation.

Oh god. You send him a frantic message.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 10:17

[TT] I know exactly what you're thinking and no, I do not have a boyfriend.  
[TG] its too late now youre motherfucking entrenched in this bitch  
[TT] I will lock you out of my apartment, I swear to god.  
[TG] youre an atheist  
[TG] and i have no intention of using the door

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] 

You sigh and pocket your phone. All you can do now is warn Jake and hope for the best.

The tour group passes you on your way back to your desk. Roxy greets the woman in the green pantsuit in front of her office, then relieves the public relations manager of the party.

Your phone buzzes as you sit down beside Jake. You check the message. “Jane's on her way. She set her kitchen on fire while making breakfast, but she’s fine.”

Behind the glass panes that set cybersecurity apart from the robotics lab, Roxy talks to the Cherubim representatives. Animated gestures punctuate whatever she says. You see the disaster before it hits and flinch when Roxy sweeps an arm out and smacks the poor woman in front right across the face. Horrified, Roxy dives forward and traps the woman’s face between her hands as she searches for injury.

The woman laughs and pats Roxy’s arms. They linger in that position for a few moments before Roxy hops back and continues her speech.

An eyebrow raised, you return to your schematics.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Warn Jake.**

“I don’t know how he plans on getting in, but I have a feeling it’s through the windows. Specifically your window. Please leave your guns in here, I don’t want you to shoot him by mistake. And at no time before his arrival should you be undressed in the apartment, he’s a photographer and he will take full advantage of the situation.”

Jake laughs at your agitation. “I don’t believe your brother could be half as athletic as you’re making him out to be. Unless your brother is secretly Spider-Man, in which case I would love to have his autograph on some of my comics.” He unclips the holster around his hips and shimmies out of it. “But if it will make you feel any better, you can hold onto these.”

You take the guns with a frown and hold them at arm’s length. “I’ll...keep them in my dresser or something.”

“You’re holding them like week-old underpants,” Jake says. He grins. “The safeties are on, you don’t have anything to worry about. Should I change into something else?”

“Please don’t. He already thinks he’s going to meet my new boyfriend, don’t encourage him.” Your phone vibrates on the counter.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 5:51

[TG] me n janey r here let us up  
[TT] I’ll be down in a minute.  
[TT]  
[TT] Scratch that. Jake will be down in a minute. 

“Go let the girls in,” you say. “They’re waiting outside the lobby. I’ll keep an eye out for Bro.”

Jake tugs his shoes back onto his feet. “Be back in a jiffy!” He skips out the door and leaves you alone in the silent apartment to jump at every little creak and hiss of the building. Ten minutes pass, but he doesn’t return.

[TT] Did Jake get lost on the way back?  
[TT] ...  
[TT] Hello?  
[TT] Did Bro con you into smuggling his ass in here?  
[TT] He fucking did, didn’t he.  
[TT] You’re off my Christmas list, Rox.

You pick up the guns and put them in your dresser like you said you would, then throw yourself onto the couch in the living room. There are no replies to your messages, so you can only assume the worst and hope that Jake isn’t _too_ upset by whatever questions Bro asks about your nonexistent sex life. After fifteen minutes, you call Roxy. “What the hell are you doing down there?”

“Just the big brother intimidation routine. You know, the usual.”

A growl rumbles in your throat. “How the fuck did you get Roxy’s phone?”

“She handed it to me.”

“We aren’t dating, leave him alone.”

Was that Jake’s snicker in the background?

Bro pauses, then makes a rude noise and says, “Nah.”

“I’m coming down there.”

“Don’t bother.” The front door of your apartment creaks open and Bro follows Jake into the living room, cotton candy pink cell phone pressed to his ear. He ends the call and drops onto the couch beside you. “‘Sup.”

Jake perches on the arm closest to your head, a huge stupid grin plastered across his face.. “You have a knack for over-exaggeration, Strider, you know that?”

Bro snorts. “You’ve been living here for how long, and you just figured that out? I take back what I said, even Dirk is more observant than that.” He smirks when Jake splutters. “I hear you got robbed. What’s up with that?”

“I stayed the night at Roxy’s. He never would have made it through the front door if I’d been here.”

“I don’t know, li’l man, I waltzed right on in.”

“Fuck off.” You point to the phone in his hand. “Where are Roxy and Jane, anyway?”

Bro twirls the television remote between his fingers. “They offered to pick up dinner. Still my treat,” he says when you glare and open your mouth to protest, “but I’ve had such a _long_ , _hard_ journey. That journey fucked me so hard I can hardly walk. Gotta rest up before I attempt to ride any more—”

“Ha ha, you are hilarious. You’re the comedic genius, it’s you. Who could ever have guessed you were really talking about dicks the whole time? Not me!” You snatch the remote from Bro’s hands and sit on it. “What are you doing in Houston?”

Hand held to his heart in mock offense, Bro says, “Can’t I just come visit my little bro every once in a while? Why do I have to have some ulterior motive?”

You scoff. “The last time you came just to visit was when I graduated college. As far as I know, I haven’t reached any particular lifetime milestones recently, so I feel justified in asking what the hell you’re doing here.”

He raises his palms. “All right, all right. I’m here for the touring premiere of _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff Live_ and I’d like for you and the girls to come. I’ll comp you a ticket too, bro,” he says to Jake. “Since you’re such a big fan.”

Jake’s eyes double in size. “Really?”

“I’ve got like twenty to give out and I don’t love that many people enough to give them front row tickets, so. Yeah. It’s your lucky day, English.” Bro pats your calf. “Looks like you get to dress him up again.”

Your neck flushes at the knowing look he gives you. “Why would I do that? His shitty skull shirts would be way more in the spirit of irony.”

“Hey!” Jake punches you in the shoulder. He folds in on himself. “I want to be presentable.”

“The ladies and gents won’t be able to resist you,” you say as you rub his knee. There’s that look from Bro again.

An obnoxious video game theme blares from Roxy’s phone. Bro answers. “Yo, Roxy, ‘s about time. Yeah sure, I’ll send the brigade.” He ends the call and turns to Jake. “You should help the girls bring dinner up.”

Jake salutes him. “Yes sir, Mr. Strider!”

“Whoooa, Mr. Strider was my dad. And like, maybe Dirk too, I dunno. Call me Dave.” Bro turns his smirk on you as soon as Jake is out the front door. “So.”

“Nope.”

“Yep.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Bro steals your shades. “You totally dig him. Got mad homo vibes rolling off you like it’s the middle of July, that’s how hot you are for this guy.”

You bury your face in a cushion. “So what. Feeling’s not mutual.”

Bro lifts your legs and scoots in closer to you. “I get the feeling you don’t know that for a fact.”

With a groan, you kick him. “I get enough of this from Roxy, go back to being aloof and shit.”

Bro clicks his tongue. “Ohhh, I see. You think he’s straight.” He tears the cushion out of your hands and tips his shades back to meet your gaze. “As a Certified BisexualTM, I feel qualified in saying that your bodyguard is batting for both teams.”

Your stomach performs several backflips. “Bullshit. You have worse gaydar than I do.”

He lifts a finger to protest, but it wilts. “Okay, sure, but my bi-dar is off the fuckin’ charts. I am the expert in bisexuals and I am telling you, Jake English is one hundred percent, undeniably down with the D. And the V, but we both know that’s irrelevant.”

“How the fuck would you know? You met him twenty minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but Roxy filled me in when I pestered her this afternoon. Something about a sexy flamenco dancer.”

You pick yourself up off the couch and glare down at him. “It was _one story_ he told Jane—while hammered, might I add—at the club.” You wave your arms in an attempt to convey your irritation. “And even if he _is_ bi, which I’m not necessarily saying he isn’t because I haven’t asked, that doesn’t mean he’s instantly going to jump on my dick. We all have standards, you know.”

“Men prostrate themselves before you and you think he doesn’t find you attractive,” Bro says, his tone flat.

Roxy, Jane, and Jake burst into the apartment. “Hellooo there Striders!” Roxy calls. “Got some top notch grubs here to share. Get your cute butts in the kitchen!”

With a last tilt of his eyebrows, Bro hands your shades back and joins your friends.

The five of you gather on the couch, Jake on the arm beside you while Bro sits between Roxy and Jane.

Jake eyes his food for several moments. “This hasn’t come into contact with peanuts, has it? I’m deathly allergic and I certainly don’t want to botch this lovely family reunion with a near-death experience!”

You swallow a mouthful of soup. It burns its way into your stomach as you work your lips around your surprise. “We’ve had Chinese three times since you moved in, why the fuck don’t I know this?”

Unaffected by your dismay, Jake says, “I ordered, so I just requested they fry mine in separate oil. They were more than willing to oblige the request.” He looks from Roxy to Bro. “Is this safe to eat?”

Bro shrugs. “Fuck if I know. There’s a menu on the counter, should have the number. Call and ask.” He takes an unnecessarily large bite out of a breadstick and chews as Jake leaves with your cell phone. “Hey Roxy,” he says. “Rose wants you to call. Like, she repeatedly pestered me with the request that _I_ request that you call her at least once a week to report on how you’re doing. She said she’s doing, and I quote, ‘ _wonderfully well on my own, but I do on occasion long for the sweet song of my daughter’s voice in my ear_ ’. Also she’s got more pretentious fucking wizard porn for you to read.”

Roxy squeals. “Yesss!” She sets aside her meal and pesters her mom, presumably for more information on her latest novel.

With Roxy occupied, Bro turns to Jane. “May I ask how the investigation is coming? I hear you’re heading it up.”

Jane nods and swallows her food. “It’s coming along better since Cherubim started sharing information. Now that Miss Umbra has visited with me in person she’s more comfortable with my employees’ cooperation, so I suppose I can tell you as long as you don’t take it to the press.”

“You know me, Jane, can’t keep these lips sealed. These lips are so loose they starred in the spiritual sequel to _Footloose_ , which turned out to be a colossal piece of shit but a beloved cult classic nonetheless.”

“Maybe I should refrain from talking about the investigation with you,” Jane says, a teasing tone in her voice.

“You wound me, Miss Crocker.”

The nervous knot in your stomach returns with a fury. You hide your face behind your cup of soup as Jane talks.

“The SBURB robberies were all of blueprints, specifically blueprints of robotic limbs. The last ones were old drafts for an android Dirk is developing. Cherubim, on the other hand, was robbed of robotics components, which quite frankly is an insult to SBURB but given the circumstances of the insult not one we plan to address.”

Bro reclines into the couch and props his feet up on the coffee table. “The thief might not like SBURB’s products but looks like he thinks you have the superior roboticists. Although Dirk, he might not have been the best choice. ‘M surprised he didn’t rob _you_ , Roxy, what with all that computer wizard shit you pull.”

Roxy blushes and giggles. “Dave, I’m flattered, but you’re just an _eensy_ bit too old for me. Plus you’re like, basically my uncle and shit so that just gets fuckin’ weird.”

“I gotta live up to my tabloid reputation somehow.”

Jake rejoins you on the couch. He drops what you’re fairly certain is an EpiPen into your lap before he picks up his food. “Do you know how to use that, Strider?” Your blank stare must be answer enough. “Just stab it into my thigh right here and hold it to the count of ten,” he says as he pats his leg. “But only if I motion for you to do it, because believe me the adrenaline in that is enough to send me to the hospital all by itself. So if I ever need the injection, call emergency services immediately after you dose me. Got it?”

“Uh.” You hold the injector up to your face. “Why am I getting this lesson now?”

“Well now is as good a time as any! And besides,” Jake says as he takes the first bite of his dinner, “the girl on the line said she was pretty sure there were no peanut products in the kitchen, but she couldn’t be certain.”

Your mouth hangs open. “Do you have a fucking death wish?”

“I trust you won’t sit back and watch me die.” He eats another bite and smiles at you.

You miss the way Bro’s and Roxy’s eyebrows rise together as though the action had been choreographed beforehand, but Roxy tells you all about it on Pesterchum later that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of yesterday I have been writing this fic for a solid four weeks. I'm pretty sure I've never managed to write daily for this long and I haven't been this committed to a fic (as you'll notice by my 3-4 chapter unfinished works collection OTL) since I wrote a godawful Tornshipping fic like seven years ago. Tl;dr I feel very accomplished for the work I have done on this fic so far.


	9. a little bro-on-bro action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **SPOILER FOR TW**  
>  gun violence & panic attack  
>  **SPOILER FOR TW**

**> Dirk: Dress Jake.**

The two of you rented tuxedos for the event despite the outdoor venue, and Jake has no idea what to do with his bowtie or cummerbund. His shirt balloons where it’s tucked into his pants. You don’t think this was a problem before today, but you aren’t about to squander an opportunity to smooth your hands down his back. He doesn’t so much as twitch as you tuck the hem of his shirt away and hook the kelly green satin cummerbund around his waist.

“You should learn to tie this,” you say as you wrap the bowtie around your fingers and pull it into shape. “Someday you’ll be a grown-up who has to dress himself.”

Jake helps you shrug into your tuxedo jacket. “You certainly aren’t complaining.” He tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Is it _really_ necessary to wear these to the show? It’s going to be blistering hot.”

“Nothing is more ironic than a tuxedo in late August.” You lace up your oxfords and glance over the tops of your shades. “You need help tying your shoes, or…?” You crack a smile at Jake’s indignant sniff. “There are going to be hoards of paparazzi. Don’t talk to them.”

“Why the devilfucking dickens not?”

You roll your eyes. “Because they’ll _love_ you. And no,” you interrupt as he starts to retort, “that’s not a good thing. Expect at least one trashy article about our secret manbro love for each other.”

He laughs. “I want a copy of every tabloid that so much as mentions me in passing.”

“You really don’t, but sure, we can go trawl the magazine aisle like a couple of middle-aged, sexually-repressed housewives next week. That way you’ll learn why Bro and I ignore them.”

“What’s the worst they could come up with?”

One brow cocked, you say, “The first time I brought Roxy and Jane to one of Bro’s screenings, we were accused of polygamy and subjected to an actual police investigation. Remember Cronus? He told them I was a ‘kinky motherfucker’ and that he wouldn’t put it past me. Speaking of, you might want to make peace with any evil exes you’ve got hanging out in your closet before we leave.”

“They’ll be hard-pressed to find any exes of mine,” says Jake as he finishes the last bow on his shoe. “If they did, it would certainly be news to me!”

You frown and fix your gaze on him. “What, not even one little fling? I find that hard to believe.”

Jake shrugs as he slips one pistol into his shoulder holster. “Besides my grandma, I’ve known you and the girls longer than anyone else in my entire life. There was always someplace new to explore, and nobody I cared to explore it with. I suppose I don’t quite understand why people feel the need to pair off at all.”

“What about Spider-Girl?”

“I hardly expected that she would run off with me into the jungle! What do you take me for?” Jake pushes his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. “To be quite frank, I doubt I’m capable of romance.” He tosses you a sad smile. “But that’s the life of an adventurer, eh?”

Your heart takes a running leap out the window. “Does that bother you?”

“It used to,” he admits, “but I've grown used to my esteemed bachelorhood over the years. I imagine I'll grow old on my own about as gracefully as I do anything else.”

You snort. “Such a ringing self-endorsement.” You restrain the impulse to embrace him and murmur your condolences into his ear. Jake’s shoulders slump the littlest bit and you know he hasn't made as much peace with this as he claims. You rub the tops of his arms and hold his gaze as a compromise, because he deserves to be comforted. “You don’t have to be alone forever. You've got me, Roxy, and Jane now, and trust me, we have a way of hanging around whether you like it or not.”

Jake chuckles and places a hand on your forearm. “I'm glad to hear that, Strider.” He lingers there, eyes on yours and a small smile on his lips.

You’re the first to step back. “Ready to go?”

The two of you walk side-by-side toward the almost five-hundred-acre park behind your apartment building.

Jake fills his lungs with the scent of greenery and sighs. He hooks his thumbs in his pants pockets, a little bounce in his step. “I wish I’d visited sooner. I feel so much closer to home here.”

“Why didn’t you ask? It’s literally across the street from where we live.”

“You don’t strike me as the outdoorsy type,” Jake says. “I didn’t want to impose.”

You punch him in the shoulder. “Let’s visit the zoo next week.”

“Zoos are sad. I would rather meet animals face-to-face in their natural habitat. I would never wish a cage on even the most dangerous beast. Except mosquitoes,” he adds as an afterthought. “They can rot in hell for all I mind.”

A few moments of pleasant silence pass as you follow the sidewalk toward the theatre. “There’s a Japanese garden in the park, too. As long as you don’t mind seeing plants in pots,” you tease. Jake sticks his tongue out at you and you smirk. “I go sometimes when I need space to think. You’d like it.” You imagine his hands on your hips under a cherry tree in full bloom, but it’s five months too late to realize that fantasy even if Jake were on board with a little bro-on-bro action. The urge to hold his hand is magnetic. You brush shoulders, but manage to keep your hands to yourself as the giant a-frame awning over the theatre enters your field of view.

Hundreds of people are gathered on the hill, where they lounge on blankets and in lawn chairs. You didn’t expect a turnout this impressive, but it is a free show, so you chalk it up to cheapskates and freeloaders here for their weekend entertainment.

You lead Jake into the seats under the awning, down to the very front and center where Bro—clad in a bright red velvet tuxedo—sits with Roxy and Jane. “Anybody need a snack for the show?”

Roxy considers. “Are you buying?”

Bro flings a credit card at your face and you catch it without a glance. “I am. Get three of the biggest damn popcorns you can buy. I need something to shower my actors in.”

“Is Ben performing tonight?”

“Owen and Donald too,” Bro says.

“Sweet.” You haven’t seen Ben since the premiere of _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff the Moive_ , so you make a mental note to visit with him backstage after the show (only because he was nice to you as a kid, and definitely not because you still have the tiniest crush on him and his weird, sort of gaunt face, nope). You pick your way through the crowd to concessions. Red and blue neon signs glare against the growing twilight as the line meanders its way to the window, where you’re greeted by a familiar scowl.

His nose is bent, and that knowledge gives you a gleeful thrill. “What the fuck. Do you want?” he snarls.

“Three of your biggest popcorns. Extra butter.” You lean against the counter as he scoops fluffy white into huge paper buckets and drowns it in yellow sauce. If you’re honest, you don’t know how you’re going to get all three buckets back to your seat.

“Will that be all?” His eyes are narrowed and his nostrils are flared when he takes Bro’s card and scans it. His grip doesn’t loosen when he hands it back under the glass. “Watch yourself. And your bitches. Dirk. _Strider_.” He stares you down as you arrange the buckets in your arms.

You’d be afraid to turn your back on him if you weren’t indeed Dirk motherfucking Strider. If he wants a fight, you’re more than willing to hand his ass back to him on a bronze platter, because he sure as fuck doesn’t deserve a silver one. You distribute the popcorn and settle into your seat next to Jake. Somewhere in the distance, you hear the click of a camera and flinch. “The vultures have arrived.”

Jake pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Should I give them a detailed description of your apartment?” he asks with a wink.

“I will kick you the fuck out.”

Your hands meet when you both reach for the popcorn, and Jake grins sideways at you. “I never knew you were so petty.” His fingertips play with yours and only the presence of the paparazzi keeps you glued to your own seat. Your collar is suddenly too tight and you wish you weren’t wearing a bowtie so you could undo the top button.

You couldn’t be more thankful when the house lights flicker and dim around you, the stage lights go up, and the show begins. You casually spread your legs so that your thigh rests against Jake’s. He doesn’t move away.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Evade the vultures.**

Why can’t this guy just let you take a piss in peace? “How long have you known the gentleman accompanying you tonight?”

You roll your eyes and ignore the man as you zip your fly.

He follows you to the sink. “Are you in a relationship with him?” The man sticks his cell phone in your face as if you intend to answer.

Jake waits for you outside the bathroom with a new bucket of popcorn (he spilled the first one all over the aisle halfway through the first act). “Look what I got!” he says with a grin.

You toss him a pointed look and jerk your chin toward the paparazzo who trails you out of the bathroom. Your stomach sinks when the man pounces on Jake.

“How do you know Mr. Strider?”

“We should get back to our seats soon,” says Jake, eyes locked onto you. The man tries to block his path, but Jake sidesteps him with admirable grace and returns safely to his seat. He waves at the man when he snaps several pictures of the two of you in your chairs. After he finally gives up and leaves, Jake breathes a sigh of relief. “Do you deal with these sorts often?”

Around a bite of popcorn, you say, “Nah, only whenever Bro makes me come to one of these events. He’s the one who has the assholes following him twenty-four/seven.”

Jake’s eyes bug out of his face. “How in the world do you manage it, Dave?”

Bro shrugs. “I have eight sets of the same outfit and that’s all I wear out of the house most days. There’s still a few diehards, but most of them gave up since their pictures are worthless.”

“It must be terrible.”

“It was a real shocker, I'll give you that. But I've been in the industry so long now that the papa are a minor inconvenience compared to the colossal dicks in the MPAA.” Bro sneers at the recorder that is thrust at him from behind.

“Can I get you to repeat that statement, Mr. Strider?”

Bro stands and searches the theatre, hand over his eyes like a visor. He makes a point to ignore the woman behind him. “No one with a press pass is to be seated within five rows of us. Where the fuck is the house manager?” He lowers himself back into his chair when the woman absconds, then glances at his watch. “Thank fuck.”

The crowd mills around for another minute before the show resumes for the second act.

At curtain call, Bro hurls his untouched bucket of popcorn at Ben, Owen, and Donald as they take their bow. Popcorn sticks in their hair when they straighten up. Ben flips Bro off and Bro returns the gesture with a wide smirk. He turns to you and your friends. “I'm gonna go shoot the shit, you joining?”

Jake looks from Bro to you like a kid who just discovered that Santa is real after all.

You steer him by the shoulder. “I'll introduce you to Ben.” You hope one of the magazines represented at the event publishes a picture of Jake’s expression right at this moment so you can frame it and hang it up on your wall.

Jake loves Ben. Jake loves the entire cast, for that matter. You would be embarrassed for the lopsided fanboy-ish grin on his face if you didn’t wear a similar smile behind your hand. Your whole body feels too warm, so you shrug out of your jacket and sling it over your shoulder  (this doesn't help in the slightest). The back right pocket of your pants buzzes, but you don’t bother to check who pestered you.

A hand taps your shoulder before Roxy hugs you from behind. “Too busy to pester your bestie, Di-Stri?”

“We're in the same room,” you say. Your eyes track Jake’s movement as he tells an animated story to Donald.

Jake’s eyes catch yours and you wave. His smile widens before he turns back to his audience.

Roxy’s arms tighten around you. “I love you.”

You look over your shoulder, your eyebrows knit together. “What's up?”

“I've never seen you so happy is all,” she says. She leans her cheek against yours.

You place a hand over hers on your chest. “I love you too, Roxy.”

“I know you do.” Roxy squeezes you one last time before she skips off to chat with Bro.

After about fifteen minutes, Bro leads the four of you onstage to get a firsthand look at the set and allow the cast time to change into street clothes. “These fuckers,” he says as he points to the massive staircase up-center, “broke on the second night back in L.A., Ben fell like fifteen feet in the middle of a scene. Even the crew wasn’t sure for a minute if I’d tampered with the scenery until I ran backstage to see if he was okay. He had to finish the show with a limp. To be fair, I warned him about stairs, bro.”

Roxy meets Bro’s proferred fist. “You told him dog.” She squints into the crowd. “Hey, Dirk, isn’t that the dude I sucker punched at Club Derse?”

A chill runs down your spine. “Where?” You follow her finger to where the man stomps down the aisle, broom in hand. “Hey, maybe we should go. Who knows what he’ll do if he sees you.”

“I took him once, I can—” Roxy yelps when you shove her and Jane offstage.

You turn to Bro and Jake, who give you puzzled looks. “I’ll explain later,” you say to Bro.

Wood clatters against concrete behind you. “Strider!”

“Holy shit,” Bro says, hands up as he backs toward the stairs.

The man brandishes a pistol in one hand. He cocks the hammer and waves the gun. “Look at me! You cocky motherfucker!”

Your heart hammers in your chest and all you can think is that you hate yourself and your ego.

Jake reaches for his shoulder holster in the corner of your eye, but he’s too slow.

An explosive sound like a crack of thunder rips through the ampitheatre.

Screams from backstage follow.

Bro collapses.

“Fuck!” The man cocks the gun again.

Jake kneels. He fires. Two shots pop off in quick succession.

The man’s right leg explodes in a shower of plastic shards. He topples over.

In a blur, Jake leaps off the stage and kicks the gun out of reach. It skitters across the ground. Jake steps on the man’s chest and trains his gun on the man’s face. “Don’t. Move.” His body is rigid. “Strider, check on Dave.”

Oh. Right.

Curled up on the stage, Bro clutches his stomach. His face is contorted in agony. He wheezes.

You can’t move. The world tilts around you.

_(this is your fault)_

“Is he still alive?” Jake asks. “ _Damn_ it, Strider, answer me!”

Your voice grates against your throat. “Yes.”

Jake exhales a long breath and squares his shoulders, then barks out orders. “Roxy, call emergency services, whatever the number is. Jane, compress Dave’s wound with paper or cloth or something. Strider, sit down right where you are, you’re having a panic attack.”

You do as he says and drop your head between your knees. Sirens wail from somewhere you can’t identify (it has to be close by, the hospital is across the street from your apartment). Footsteps pound past as several members of the show surround Bro (there’s so much blood, oh god). Arms wrap around you and a face nuzzles into your neck (Roxy murmurs against your skin _breathe dirky breathe_ ).

Bro is loaded onto a stretcher.

A paramedic tries to hand you a paper bag.

You push her away and lurch to your feet to stumble alongside the stretcher. “My brother,” is all you manage to say. The paramedics won’t let you in the back with Bro, but they seat you up front. You end up alone in the emergency waiting room. Your head spins the room upside-down and you can hardly make it to the chairs lined up against the wall. It might be minutes or it might be hours between the time you sit and the time Roxy and Jane arrive. You lay your head in Jane’s lap while Roxy coos and strokes your back.

Jane talks to a doctor and gestures to you. You can’t hear what they say over the ringing in your ears. With Roxy’s help, Jane pushes you upright. “He's in surgery now. They'll let us know the extent of the damage when he gets out."

_(this is your fault)_

You fall asleep (or lose consciousness) in the waiting room with your head on Roxy’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gooooooood morning~~~ :D
> 
> I really loved writing the first 2500 words of this chapter because Dirk's heart-eyes were almost tangible the whole time. I loved writing the last 500 words too, but they were a little harder because the pacing has to be just right.
> 
> I am sorry but also not at all.
> 
> Happy one-month fic-iversary to me.


	10. you were totes cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **> Dirk: Wonder why you’re here.**

You open your eyes to unfamiliar white walls. The television on the other side of the room blares the news. Your neck hurts.

Roxy snores as you extricate your head from between her cheek and her shoulder. You let her sleep against your arm.

“Morning, Strider.” Jake sits in a chair across from you and the girls, haggard. Dark circles color the skin beneath his eyes. “I got you all coffee before I came. I’m afraid it’s cold by now.”

You accept the cup he hands you anyway and take a long gulp. It slides down your throat, cool sludge with none of the restorative properties it would have had an hour ago. “Did you sleep?”

Jake sighs and shakes his head. “I didn’t get out of the blasted interrogation room until after five this morning. Your police officers sure like to hassle people who are just doing their job.”

The laugh you try to give morphs into a hacking cough. It’s still hard to breathe. “Sometimes I forget you’re foreign, Jake.” Your eyes fall on his shoulder. “What happened after I left?”

“The police arrived and packed me and the assailant up in separate cars. As far as I know, he’s still in a holding cell while they process the crime scene. The bullet was delivered a little before I left, so I suppose they’ll book him any time now.”

You jump to your feet (Roxy snorts and bolts upright in her chair) and look from the emergency room doors to Jake. “Is he…?”

Jake crosses the floor and steadies you with one hand on your arm. “The doctor came out a while ago. The bullet tore a hole in Dave’s stomach, so he has to be monitored for peritonitis, but he’s going to be all right.” You collapse into Jake’s arms and he catches you around the waist, rubs your back as you draw breath after labored breath against his shoulder.

 _(he’s going to be all right)  
_ _(this is your fault)_

“Can I see him?”

“He’s resting right now,” says Jake, fingers in your hair. “A nurse will come get you when he wakes up.” He lowers you into your chair and rests his hands on your shoulders. “Is there anything I can do for you while we wait?

You grasp the untucked hem of his dress shirt. “Don’t leave.”

Jake’s eyes soften. “Of course not.”

Roxy moans and stretches her arms above her head. “Mornin’ Dirky. How you doin’?” She blinks several times before she realizes where she is and throws her arms around you. “That was a dumb question, I bet you’re doin’ pretty shitty right about now.” After a few moments, she lets you go. “I’ll be right back.” Roxy looks directly at Jake. “Don’t you dare leave him alone right now.”

Jake holds his hands up in front of himself. “I already promised I wouldn’t!”

“Good. You can have my seat.” Roxy uses Jake’s shoulders to maneuver him into her chair. She ruffles his hair and leaves.

The two of you sit in silence for a while. Jake taps his foot against the thin carpet while you stare ahead at nothing in particular. His hand bumps against yours when he sets it on the arm of his chair. His eyes slide over to rest on you and he drapes his fingers over yours. As he squeezes your hand, he gives what you suppose is intended to be a reassuring smile.

Roxy peeks around a corner on the far side of the waiting room. She winks and ducks back behind the wall.

A dull thrum takes up residence in your arm, but it has none of the intensity Jake’s touch usually possesses. His breathing slows and deepens. When you sneak a glance over at him, his eyes are closed and his head droops toward his chest.

You don’t realize you're staring until Roxy snaps her fingers in front of your face. “Nurse is here,” she says. “Let’s go see Dave.” She wakes Jane.

Reluctant, you remove your hand from beneath Jake’s and shake him awake. “You can have the chair when we get to Bro’s room.” You gather the cold coffees in your arms.

The halls of the hospital stretch long and beige as the four of you walk together behind the nurse. Disinfectant burns your nose. You all squeeze into an elevator (“Mr. Strider was moved out of the ER after surgery”) and the button for the fourth floor lights up under the nurse’s finger. This floor is quieter than the emergency room. The nurse leaves you in front of room four-thirteen with instructions to enter whenever you’re ready.

You inhale and fix your eyes on the closed door in front of you.

 _(this is your fault)_  
_(this is your fault)_  
_(this is your fault)  
(he’s going to be all right)_

You turn the handle and lead your friends into Bro’s room.

His shades are folded on the wheeled table a foot away from his bed. He leans as far as he can without pulling out his I.V., stretches his fingers and brushes the tip of the earpiece. His tongue peeks out from between his lips in concentration until he notices the four of you across from him. He retracts his arm and pastes on his best poker face. “‘Sup.”

Roxy takes pity and hands him his shades.

Your feet can’t be convinced to move from where they’ve taken root in the tiles. Your throat is dry and uncooperative.

Bro slips his shades over his eyes. “I don’t know about you guys, but this is the shittiest hotel I've ever stayed in. First they knock me out for indefinite hours, then they wheel me into a room and stick a needle in my arm so they can drug me. To top it all off, there's not even a continental breakfast! Give me my phone, I need to leave an irate one-star review on Yelp.”

Jake and the girls appease him with uncomfortable laughter, but a stabbing pain shoots through your chest. When you were young, Bro was always at his most sarcastic whenever the bills were past due and the lights went out. He clenches his teeth and scrunches his nose every time he breathes.

“Is there pain medication in your I.V.?” you ask, voice quiet.

“I know they’re running a metric fuckload of antibiotics through me for periotitties or somesuch. I think they’ve got like, nutritive fluids in me too because they won’t let me eat. But they just kinda inject stuff into the bags here and there, haven’t gotten around to telling me what everything is.”

Jane gives you a knowing look. “I’ll go see if they know at the nurse’s station.”

Roxy wraps a hand around Jake’s arm. “We gotta go investigate the halls for potential threats. Isn’t that right, Jakey?”

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

With a sigh, Roxy says, “You’re coming with me.” She drags him out of the room and shuts the door behind them.

You approach the bed and lay a hand on the rail. “How do you really feel?”

Bro pushes his shades up onto his head. “Like fucking garbage. Oddly enough, a bullet to the stomach hurts like a bitch.” He rubs his eyes. “So why did that asshole shoot me?”

“He was aiming for me.”

“Well yeah, I got that much. But what’d you do to piss him off so bad? I know you can be kind of an asshole, but damn.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You pull a chair up to Bro’s bedside. “You can’t tell the girls. Or Jake.” Deep breath in, deep breath out. “They’ll find out soon enough, but I can’t deal with it right now.”

“I ain’t getting any younger.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s the one who broke into my apartment. I got home and the door was unlocked, so I snuck up on him, but he shoved me and I was hungover so he got away. Then I saw him again at Club Derse. He recognized me immediately and I was drunk again—goddamn I think I have a problem—so I pretended I didn’t know it was him and I _flirted_ with him because I figured it would keep him distracted but then he got _mad_ and he called Roxy a fag hag so she broke his nose. We got kicked out and I thought that was the last I would see of him. But he was working concessions at the show last night. I bought popcorn from him and he told me to watch myself. I figured it was an empty threat until he pulled out the gun.”

Bro’s eyebrows rise with every word that follows the first sentence. He opens his mouth a few times to interrupt, but lets you finish before he speaks. “Why didn’t you have him arrested after Club Derse?”

Shame burns dark red from your clavicles to your ears. You wave your hand at the door. “It was stupid.”

“If I got shot because you wanted to mack on Jake, you’d better be fuckin’ macking.” You hide your face in your hands and Bro laughs. “Un-fucking-believable. My baby bro risks life and limb for a chance to kiss a dude and then proceeds _not_ to kiss him.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed closest to the I.V. and says, “I’m going to find him and lock the both of you in a closet until you talk about your feelings, I swear to—” Bro shouts and clutches his stomach. His heart monitor screeches.

_(this is your fault)_

Footsteps pound down the hall. A different nurse from before bursts into the room and frowns when she sees Bro. “Mr. Strider, you’re not allowed to walk for a reason.” She helps rearrange him on his bed. “I know it’s embarrassing, but you need to use the urinal you’ve been provided until the doctor says you can get out of bed. Okay?”

“Yeah, all right, lesson learned.” Only when the nurse is gone does Bro frown at you. “I can’t even blame you that much because fuck knows I’ve made some terrible life decisions with my spam porpoise, but those terrible decisions pretty much only affected me and sometimes the person I fucked or wanted to. Not turning somebody in to the police because you wanna bang somebody else kind of crosses a line.”

Rather than answer, you direct your gaze to the wall.

Bro huffs. “God damn, that number, really? I thought we were over the cold shoulder when you graduated high school, but looks like I was wrong.” A knock sounds against the door. “Come in.”

Your friends file back into the room. For a brief moment, you fear they overheard, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“I’m gonna stay for a while,” says Roxy. “Keep Davey here some company. You should go home and change. Take a nap.”

It occurs to you that you and Jake both still wear your (expensive) rental tuxedos.

“I’ll bring you something to wear from my place,” Jane says.

Roxy pinches her cheek. “My angel.” She points a finger at you. “Now go.”

There’s no argument to be made, so you nod and leave Bro to his sterile prison. At least he’ll have Roxy for company.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Strip.**

You skin sings with relief when you peel off the last layer of slept-in clothes. You toss them on the bed and tug on paper-thin pajama pants before you flop down on top of them (you’re already going to pay extra because they're wrinkled all to hell and smell terrible).

“Can I come in?” Jake asks, muffled by the door that separates you.

“Sure.”

He wears one of his ridiculous t-shirts and a matching pair of boxers. “How are you?”

“People keep asking me that,” you say. You bury your face in the cool sheets of your bed.

Jake chuckles. “To be fair, we just got home from the hospital where your brother is being treated for a gunshot wound.” He sits beside you. His pinky finger brushes your bare chest as he spreads his fingers. “And you were in a right state last night.”

You lift one shoulder off the bed and drop it. “He’s okay.”

_(this is your fault)_

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Well that’s my answer.” You give an undignified yelp when Jake rolls you onto your back.

He holds you down by your forearms, callouses rough against your skin. His face looms above yours and his features are written over with concern. “I know how Dave is doing. I want to know about _you_.”

His lips draw your attention. You flick your gaze upward to his eyes, but you find that they’re no less distracting. If it’s possible to drown above water, you think that must be what’s happening.

_(it was stupid)_

“I’m dealing.”

Jake releases you and stretches across the mattress a few inches away. The heat of his skin radiates against yours. “I wish you would talk about it.”

“‘S not how I roll.”

With a snort, he rolls onto his side, head in his hand. “Is this the ‘rule of cool’ Dave told me about?”

You can’t help the smirk that tugs your lips. “Something like that.”

“You’re something else, Strider.” He yawns, mouth open so wide you can see his tonsils (wow, he still has those). “I’m beat. Wake me up when you want to go back to the hospital.” He closes his eyes and nestles into your sheets. The speed with which he slips into slumber amazes you.

For a few minutes, you watch his chest rise and fall, study the way his eyes move under the lids. You’re not sure when you fall asleep at his side. Hours later you’re roused by your phone buzzing in your pocket. Jake snores as you sit up.

tipsyGnostalgic began pestering timaeusTestified at 2:01

[TG] yo dirky the nurse says the docs gonna show up around 4  
[TG] thot u mite wanna be here  
[TT] Yeah, thanks for the heads-up.  
[TG] so  
[TT] Yes?  
[TG] saw u n jake cuddlin  
[TT] I would hardly call it “cuddling”.  
[TG] dirk pls  
[TG] he was all up on ur shoulder  
[TG] holdin ur hand  
[TG] u were totes cuddlin

timaeusTestified ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic

[TG] booo  
[TG] im not done withis convo dirk strider  
[TG] *with this  
[TG] gossip with me  
[TG] daves pain meds kicked in n hes ramblin  
[TG] cant understand a WORD hes sayin  
[TG] fine ill gossip with loopy dave

tipsyGnostalgic ceased pestering timaeusTestified

Jake rests his chin on your shoulder. “Who is it?”

“Roxy. We should head back to the hospital.”

“Can we grab a late lunch on the way? I’m famished.” He hops off the bed and stretches his arms above his head.

You search for a clean outfit in your closet. “Sure. We can get some for Roxy and Jane too. And extra for Bro to gaze at longingly from across the room, cursing the hole in his stomach for its cruelty.”

Jake’s arms wrap around your bare waist. His cheek presses against your back.

“Uh.” You shift in his grip, too comfortable for it to be comfortable. “Hey?”

“You don’t have to pretend this whole thing doesn’t bother you,” he murmurs into your skin. “If it were my grandma in the hospital right now, I would be devastated.”

Your heart races in your ears. You try to steady your breathing. Nothing to see here, just a dude hugging his bro. “Can I get a shirt on?” You slip a t-shirt over your head when Jake stammers and releases you. “What should we get to eat?”

His face is tinged with red. “Whatever you like.”

“Go pick a menu out of the kitchen while I finish changing.”

“No, _you_ go pick a menu while _I_ finish changing!”

“Strife for who has to pick?”

“You’re on!”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Be smug.**

The stack of pizza boxes in your lap burns your legs (it’s your punishment for winning the strife). A bruise forms on your thigh where Jake roundhouse kicked you. It’s the first solid hit he’s ever gotten on you, and if the idea weren’t creepy as fuck, you would take a picture of the mark to commemorate the occasion.

Jake parks at your building and the two of you walk to the hospital.

Roxy and Jane are already in Bro’s room when you arrive. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle at the way Roxy’s eyebrows furrow as you enter.

“You son of a bitch,” says Bro when he notices the food in your arms.

“Oops. I forgot,” you respond, deadpan. The corner of your lips quirks up when he heaves a dramatic sigh and flops back against his pillow.

Jake steals Bro’s table and takes the pizzas from your arms. “Sorry, Dave, but we don’t have nutritive fluids running through our veins!” He grabs a slice of Hawaiian pizza. “I would give you some if I could,” he says around a bite.

You lean against the wall and watch your friends eat. “Has the doctor come yet?”

Jane shakes her head. “The last nurse to come by said he’s in the building, but he hasn’t gotten to Dave.”

“Good.” The clock on the wall says it’s a quarter to four. You refuse the slice of pizza Jake offers you and cross your arms over your chest. Roxy’s eyes are on you. The irrational feeling that _she knows_ races in circles around your thoughts.

 _(it was stupid)  
_ _(this is your fault)_

The doctor arrives a few minutes later. He explains how Bro’s stomach will heal itself in due time, how the bacteria that leaked out can cause fatal infection if it isn’t treated, how lucky Bro is that the bullet didn’t pierce the aorta or the vena cava. He gives you his card so you can call with any questions and takes a few notes before he leaves.

_(this is your fault)_

You announce you need to use the bathroom, where you lock yourself in a stall until the nagging voice in your head quiets and your breathing steadies. In the hall, you call in to work and explain the situation.

The secretary says he understands and tells you how many days of paid vacation you have (it’s a lot).

You thank him before you hang up.

Jake finds you ten minutes later, still leaned against the wall outside the bathrooms, and leads you back to Bro’s room. You say you’ll spend the night, but at Bro’s insistence, Jake drags you back home. He curls up on the bed beside you. ”Can’t have you running off while I’m passed out in the other room!”

Your heart disagrees with you on what constitutes a sensible pace. “I think you just want a piece of this,” you say as you gesture to yourself.

He reaches out and wraps a hand around your arm. “This might seem off to you, but you should know that you are very dear to me, Strider.” Before you can work words around your tongue, he continues. “You and the girls and even Dave. I couldn’t have chosen a better family if I tried.”

The ache in your chest is selfish, but you don’t care. “You sure couldn’t have,” you say.

A laugh bubbles out of Jake’s mouth. He smiles at you and lets go of your arm. “I don’t understand you sometimes.” He burrows into your pillow.

_(it was stupid)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things are getting heavier. But luckily, I probably hate character death way more than you guys, so have snarky injured Dave.


	11. must be some kind of masochist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **> Dirk: Enjoy a leisurely breakfast.**

You sit across from Jake in the cozy breakfast restaurant a few minutes down the road from your place and sip your orange juice while he pores over the menu. The peace of the morning calms the harried voices in the back of your head as you examine a colorful piece of modern art on the wall behind your table.

Jake's voice carries over the din of the crowd that’s gathered to share in your late breakfast. “Green eggs and ham! Do you suppose that the ham is actually green? Oh, but how can I pass up a signature dish?” He sets the menu down on the table. “I think I’ll have the catfish and grits.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why?”

“I make it a point to try something new whenever I can!” Jake sips his caramel macchiato. “And I plan to make no exception here.”

“Grits are hella nasty, bro.”

Jake crosses his arms. “Well I won’t know until I try them for myself.”

One eyebrow raised, you shrug. “Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” You adjust the orange ball cap you put on this morning because you were too lazy to style your hair (Jake tried to steal it multiple times before you left the apartment). You order biscuits and gravy when your waiter returns, along with another glass of orange juice.

While you’re busy with a sip of your newly-replenished drink, Jake props his feet up on the chair between your legs. “What should we do with this marvelous day off? Besides visit Dave, of course.”

You drape a leg over his. “We can go look through the magazines at Kroger. It’s just a couple blocks from here. If they’re juicy enough, we’ll bring them to Bro.”

Jake claps his hands together with a silly grin. “I can see the old ladies's stares of recognition as we pass by them now!”

“You’re a dork.” You reach across the table and flick his nose. “If anyone does recognize you, don’t give them an autograph, that shit’s just asking for trouble.”

“I’m going to bring a marker with me and sign every goddamn magazine in the store just to spite you.” When his food is placed in front of him, Jake digs into the grits. He makes a face and sticks out his tongue.

You snicker at his displeasure.

“I don’t believe I care for these,” he says after he swallows his mouthful with a grimace. “The texture is simply appalling!”

“I told you, dog.”

Jakes puffs out his cheeks. “Oh, can it.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Browse the sleazy rags.**

Jake strolls ahead of you through the automatic doors. He looks from left to right in a dramatic fashion. “Which way, Strider?” He grabs the wrist you use to point him in the right direction and drags you stumbling along behind himself. The two of you come to an abrupt stop in front of the magazine rack set up in the middle of the floor. Jake drops your hand and leans in close to read the various headlines on the covers of the tabloids. He pulls one off the rack, flips to an article near the middle, and hums. Over his shoulder you see a picture of Jake standing over the man he shot and shouting instructions over his shoulder in a full two-page spread. “Hero Saves Dave Strider from Assailant,” he reads. “Well I didn’t do a very good job of it, considering he got shot anyway.”

You pluck the magazine from his hands and scan the article on the next page. To your surprise, the reporter has nothing but praise for Jake, who remains unnamed in the story. “I’m gonna go get a basket. We’ll keep this one.”

“I’ll be here!” Jake says, nose buried in another tabloid that praises his heroics. He has a small stack on the floor beside him by the time you return. “I haven’t found a single slanderous word yet. I do think you made up the story about polygamy just to mess with me!”

Basket in hand, you load the magazines up. The stack is heavy. “I was absolutely not fucking with you on that occasion. Guess they just can’t resist the allure of a sexy gunman saving the day.”

“This one is different.” Jake hides a grin behind his hand. “Come take a look at this, Strider.” He shares the magazine with you. “Looks like you were right after all.”

Across the top of the first page is a picture of you and Jake from behind, hands frozen above the bucket of popcorn between you, smiles tugging at the corners of your lips and eyes on each other.

The air in the supermarket gets too thick to breathe. Your heart sinks in your chest. “Younger Strider Has Mysterious New Beau.”

“A little presumptuous, aren’t they?” Jake slings his free arm over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you say. You definitely don’t lean into his touch at all. “Gossip-mongering piles of dicks. Next week they’ll claim we’re married.” You move to put the tabloid back on the rack, but Jake stops you.

“Oho! I do believe I said _every_ magazine that mentions me.” He slides it into the top of your basket. “It’ll be good for a laugh every now and again, and I’m sure Dave will appreciate it.”

You shrug. The handle of the shopping basket digs into your arm. “Yeah probably. He still has a copy of that polygamy article just for the lulz. I wish I’d kept the one that accused him and Ben of secretly banging while they were filming their first movie together.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “Were they?”

“What?” You scoff. “God no. Ben is straight as a board.”

With a little cough, Jake asks, “What about Dave?”

You freeze in place. “Uhh…”

He turns back to the tabloid he holds, but not before you notice the guilty expression on his face. “Sorry. That wasn’t really appropriate for me to ask, was it?”

“Not...really, no. It’s not my place to tell you one way or another.” You shift the basket to your other hand. “Suffice to say the article was total bullshit. Ben visited a lot, but he and Bro were never a thing. They have more of a Johnny Depp and Tim Burton relationship.” You shuffle your feet. “Why are we talking about this again?”

“No reason. There’s a couple more about our blossoming romance. Want to see?”

You hold the basket out to him. “I’ll read them later. We should get the fuck out of here before some little old lady recognizes us and makes her grandkid upload pictures of us to Instagram or something.”

Jake chuckles. “Shall we hold hands for them?”

“If you’re brave enough to endure the social media shitstorm, go for it.”

His fingers slip between yours before you have a chance to protest. “Sounds like an adventure to me!” Jake grins up at you. He holds up his spare hand in the shape of a pistol and winks.

You sigh. Your arm tingles every time his skin brushes yours. “You’re going to have the vultures after you before they even figure out your name. I think you must be some kind of masochist.”

“Are you implying that I derive perverse pleasure from the tabloids in your basket?” Jake asks as you make your way to the checkout.

“If that was only an implication, I hate to see your idea of an outright accusation.”

Neither of you acknowledges that your hands are still clasped together.

Jake bounces up to the first open register and unloads the magazines onto the conveyor belt, oblivious to the pure hatred in the cashier’s eyes. He rocks back on his feet as each item is scanned. “Um, you _are_ paying, right? I suppose I should have asked sooner.”

“Dude seriously, when have I ever let you pay for anything?” You scan your card when prompted and do your best to conceal your flinch at the total. “I’m not carrying shit to the car, though.”

Jake shrugs and lines his arms with shopping bags. You clench your fists against the desire to feel the way his muscles tense with the weight. “Are we ready to go see Dave, then?” he asks. He slips out the door in front of you, then turns back to await your response.

“Seems like it.” As you follow Jake to the car, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You frown when you find that Jane is calling you. “Yo?”

“I need to talk to Jake.” Her voice is curt and cold.

Your stomach retreats back into the supermarket. You hold the phone out to Jake, who slides the last of his magazines into the trunk of the SUV. “It’s for you.” Once the device it out of your hand, you walk on wobbly legs to the passenger side of the car and climb into your seat.

Jake’s lips turn down in the rearview mirror as he talks. Every so often he glances in your direction, and you feel your heart make its way into the floorboards.

 _(it was stupid)  
_ _(this is your fault)_

Only after excruciating minutes tick by does Jake hang up the phone and hand it back as he joins you in the car. He buckles his seatbelt, starts the car, and backs out of the parking space in silence. A minute down the road, he takes a deep breath. “Jane wants me to come by the office. She said I can drop you off at the hospital. That,” he says, “isn’t optional. Just, by the way.”

Ice runs through your veins. You stare out the window.

“You know what this is about, don’t you?” asks Jake.

You lift a shoulder. “I might have an idea or two.”

“She wouldn’t tell me over the phone.” He meets your gaze when you sneak a glance. His eyebrows tilt up and his eyes implore you for an answer.

_(this is your fault)_

You have the opportunity to come clean and salvage at least one relationship.

_(it was stupid)_

“I guess she’ll tell you when you get there.”

Jake says nothing as you gather the sacks of magazines to take to Bro’s room. The SUV disappears into the early afternoon traffic, along with most of your internal organs.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Freak out.**

You’re too numb.

At first, Bro reads you the most ridiculous articles he can find to lighten your mood, but he abandons the effort after the fourth one fails to elicit so much as a twitch of your lips. “Not that it’s any help, but you could have been the one to tell him.”

Your nostrils flare as you fix your eyes on an out-of-place tile on the ground. “Tell him what? That I’ve spent the last month and a half secretly hoping that one night he would just rip off his boxers and jump into bed with me?”

“That you didn’t want him to go.”

You slink deeper into your chair and grab the nearest magazine off the stack. It’s the one Jake showed you in the store. You trace the line between your eyes and Jake’s across the page. This picture is the closest you’ll ever get to mutual attraction.

“God damn, it’s like I’ve gone back in time an entire decade,” Bro says. “Am I thirty-four again? If so, please send babes of all genders. We’ll hook this heart monitor up to you so I can get up to a little hanky-panky.” He sighs at your lack of a reaction. “You know what? You fucked up, Dirk. But the world isn’t gonna stop spinning just because you made a mistake. The girls love you, and Jake sure seems to like you, and I’m not six feet under so I guess I still think you’re okay.”

_(this is your fault)_

You turn the chair away from him. “Fuck off.”

“Jesus,” he says under his breath. “You’re always such an angsty little shit.”

Rage boils in your chest. You slam the magazine down against the table and stand over Bro. “I’ll be back.” You stalk out of the room, your phone still in the chair. Bro calls for you to retrieve it, but you ignore him. You lose yourself somewhere in the labyrinthine hallways and stop in front of a window that overlooks your apartment building.

_(it was stupid)_

Jake could pack up and leave without another word to you. He has the key to your place, after all, and it’s not like he’s needed now that the man who started all this shit is behind bars. Does he know why you withheld information, or are Jane and Roxy good for that much at least? The disappointment in his eyes as he climbed into the car at the supermarket haunts you every time you blink.

You spend countless absent minutes with your eyes glued to the boxy white building across the street. In your imagination, there’s still a chance that Jake might confess that _psych_! He wants to kiss you too. You lean your forehead against the glass and let ghostly imitations of his lips trail along your neck, let imprints of his hands squeeze your waist.

The hand that taps your shoulder almost escapes your attention, but someone behind you clears their throat. “Dirk Strider?” When you turn, you find yourself face-to-face with Kankri Vantas. The nametag on his lapel says that he’s one of the chaplains for the hospital. “I thought I had heard that your brother was shot, and when I saw you standing so forlornly in the halls of my place of employment, I thought that it was my duty as both the designated family counselor and as an acquaintance of yours to offer my condolences as well as lend an ear to your troubles. Of course, I don’t mean to invade any time you might be taking for yourself in order to cope with such trauma, only to say that you need not feel as though you have to deal with whatever feelings you might be experiencing on your own.”

Of all the people who could find you, it had to be the windbag. “Not really in the mood, Vantas.” You turn back to the window.

Kankri inserts himself into your field of view. “On the contrary, not being in the mood to talk about your feelings most certainly means that you have something you should really consider discussing. I would hope that our shared history with Cronus will not discourage you from engaging with me in this most vital moment in your life. It may come as some comfort to you that God has planned for this occasion, and would not have allowed your brother to take a bullet if He didn't feel that the experience would provide both of you with an opportunity to grow as people. He most certainly has not put you into a situation that either of you is unequipped to handle.”

“Not feeling the religious shit.”

“I apologize, it slipped my mind entirely that you are of a non-religious persuasion, and would therefore be better comforted with facts of science. I took the liberty of visiting with your brother earlier today on my rounds, and have learned that he is in no danger of dying so long as he continues to receive proper medical treatment. I’m sure you already know that, but I feel that it stands reiteration that in no way should you be concerned for his safety.

_(this is your fault)_

“Furthermore, it is statistically unlikely that you could have been the cause of an errant bullet, given that you are—if you can forgive my saying so, as I intend no insult, only a statement of fact—a relatively unremarkable member of society when compared to your brother. However, if you are dealing with what can only be described as survivor’s guilt, despite that there are only survivors in this scenario, I would be more than willing to entertain your anxieties for a few minutes while I am otherwise unoccupied.”

 _(this is your fault)_  
_(this is your fault)  
(this is your fault)_

“ _Kankri._ ” You’re almost as startled as he is by the seething intensity of your voice. "Shut. The fuck. Up.”

He holds up his hands and takes a step back. “I only sought to offer you comfort in what I’m sure must be a difficult time. Forgive me for intruding, as I have clearly miscalculated your interest in sharing.” He pulls a business card out of his breast pocket and holds it out to you. “Please, consider coming to me if you need anything.”

You accept the card, if only to make him leave you in peace. “Sure.”

Kankri offers you a pitying look and a solid pat on your shoulder before he disappears down the hall.

Sometime later, you return to Bro’s room, where he reads the less humorous tabloid articles. “I’m taking up a bet on how long it takes the sleazy rags to figure out Jake’s name. My money’s on Wednesday. What about yours?”

“Tonight.”

He points to your phone. “That piece of shit buzzed nonstop for like, ten minutes after you left. You might wanna find out what’s going on before your friends lose their goddamn minds.”

Your lock screen is filled with a long list of calls from Jane’s phone. At the bottom, there’s a short series of messages sent through Pesterchum.

gutsyGumshoe began pestering timaeusTestified at 5:14

[GG] Whenever you decide to start answering us again, you should come home.  
[GG] Roxy’s worried sick.  
[GG] And we really, really need to talk.

gutsyGumshoe ceased pestering timaeusTestified

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for the emotional whiplash.
> 
> I tried really hard with Kankri to walk the line of being respectful of religious belief but also conveying Kankri's canonically holier-than-thou attitude. Sorry if I failed.
> 
> Not to be lame and pimp myself in my own fic, but I'm running a Homestuck podcast for one of my classes. The first episode is hella boring, but I get extra credit if it's the most downloaded / listened to by the end of the semester. So, uh. [Check me out?](http://letmetellyouabouthomestuck.podbean.com/)


	12. a lot of roundabout poppycock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **> Dirk: Enter.**

Your legs shouldn’t be this weak in front of your own front door, but here you are, jelly from the waist down with your key in the lock. For a moment you think you might abscond back to the hospital and delay this confrontation.

Then the door opens inward and you’re nose-to-nose with Roxy’s mascara-streaked face. Her arms wrap around your torso as she buries her face in your shirt (you can already imagine the dark stains she’ll leave behind). “Don’t ever ignore us for hours on end again, you giant prick. I thought you’d run off or done something equally stupid.” She shoves you so hard that you stumble backward. “Now acquaint your ass with the sofa, we have a lot to discuss.”

On your way into your apartment, you sneak a look at your phone and find that the timestamps on the calls from Jane begin well before you abandoned the damn thing in Bro’s room. You must not have noticed its vibrations through the haze of shame that clung to you.

Jane paces the floor in front of the couch, hair disheveled and glasses askew on her nose. She stops dead in the middle of the room when she sees you. “Dirk.”

You take a seat without a word.

A high, steady whistle squeals in the kitchen. Jake exits with three mugs balanced in his hands, which he hands to you and the girls. “I’ll be right back with the water and the tea bags!” You don’t keep tea in the apartment. Once he has the three of you settled with your steaming mugs, he bites his lip and looks from Jane to Roxy. “Well then, I’ll just make myself a cuppa and skedaddle off to my room, I suppose. Um. Have a good talk?” His voice cracks the littlest bit at the last word, and then he’s gone.

Roxy and Jane settle into the couch on either side of you. Only the occasional clink of teaspoons against ceramic breaks the oppressive silence that fills the spaces between you.

At last, Jane takes a sip of her tea and focuses on you. “We had some news at the office today.”

Your eyes don’t leave your cup. You grunt an acknowledgment.

“The police found a match to the fingerprints they collected at the burglary scenes.”

“They booked him Saturday night for attempted murder and unlawful discharge of a firearm,” says Roxy. “But you probably already knew that.” She crosses her legs. “Broken nose isn’t really a good look for him.”

You let your tea scald its way down your throat.

“I’m not gonna lie, Dirky, I’m steaming over here. You promised me you wouldn’t do this.” Roxy sets her mug down on the coffee table. “Why didn’t you trust us?”

“It wasn’t about _you_ ,” you say under your breath.

Tea threatens to slosh out of Jane’s cup as she vibrates with rage. “You’re right, Dirk! This wasn’t about us. As usual, the decisions that brought us here were all about _you_ and what _you_ wanted. _Our_ safety clearly never occurred to you when you let a potentially dangerous man run around all willy-nilly because, what, you were enjoying your new roommate? Very considerate of you!”

“Of course your safety occurred to me!” you snap back. “I thought about it, was _sick_ over it for _weeks_ —”

“Weeks!” Jane shouts. “You’ve really known since Club Derse, then! I can’t _fucking_ believe you. All this time Roxy and I and both of our departments have been slaving over this case because you and everyone else who was robbed was in danger. But all along, Dirk Strider kept it to himself because it was more convenient for him! I set my stove on fire, that’s how stressed I’ve been about this case! But what do you care? As long as Jake doesn’t leave, it doesn’t matter _who_ gets hurt. Just ask Dave!”

 _(it was stupid)_  
_(this is your fault)_  
_(it was stupid)_  
_(this is your fault)_

You consider the merits of drowning yourself in your tea, anything at all to escape Jane’s wrath, really. You drown in the waves of rage that roll off of her instead.

“Janey…”

“I think I should take a walk.” Jane stalks out of the apartment and leaves you alone with Roxy.

The pained expression on her face hurts worse than Jane’s angry accusations ever could. “I don’t understand,” she says.

You can't help the sigh you heave. “I think Jane pretty well covered everything. I'm a colossal, selfish prick. End of conversation.” You avert your eyes. “Did you tell Jake?”

“We told him you knew. We didn't tell him why you kept it a secret. That's up to you.”

“Thanks.”

Roxy places a hand on your arm. “I’m still pretty mad.” She gives you a light slap on the cheek. “And if you ever pull this shit again I just...I don’t know, Dirk. How can we believe that you care about us when you make stupid decisions like this?” Knife successfully twisted.

You reach for Roxy, but pull back. “I guess you can’t.” You shrink away from her.

“Dirk hey,” she says as she scoots across the couch until your legs are pressed together. She threads her fingers through your hair. “We still love you, stupid. Why else would we stage this belated intervention?” She traps your face between her hands. “You might have the uber-est of uber-brains, but you’re a pretty big lunkhead sometimes.” Roxy rests her cheek on your shoulder. “We _were_ gonna hash this shit out and then laugh it off over dinner, buuut I don’t think Janey’s feeling up to it tonight. Let’s make plans for Friday, yeah?” She pats your chest when you nod. “Okay, well, I’m gonna escort her home then. Take as much time off work as you need. Your projects can wait.” At that, Roxy stands and gathers both Jane’s mug and her own. She leans down and kisses you on the forehead. “Night Dirky.”

“Night Rox.” She deposits the cups in the kitchen before she leaves.

Several minutes later, Jake appears in the hall. “Am I allowed to come out now?”

“You could have stayed to yell at me, too.”

His eyes widen and fill with sadness. “Is that what you think of me?”

Chills hit your spine with brutal force. “What?”

“I don’t understand your reasoning, but I’m not unwilling to hear you out.” He drinks some of his tea and levels his gaze with yours from across the room. “The girls seemed to have an idea, but they weren’t exactly forthcoming. It’s fine, of course,” he adds, bitterness in his tone, “if this is more of your ‘private sibling business’. I wouldn’t want to intrude upon your family matters.”

Words dig into your throat, catch hold and refuse to pass over your tongue. You tilt your head, mouth slightly open. “I...Jake, what?”

“It was presumptuous of me to feel that I was entitled to call myself part of your family. I’m sure you were just trying to spare my feelings last night, but really, I’ll get over it.” He spins on his heel to return to his room.

You’re across the floor in a heartbeat, hand wrapped around his elbow. “That’s…” You falter when he turns the rejection in his eyes on you. “That’s not why they wouldn’t tell you, Jake. They care about you every bit as much as they care about me. I care about you, too. That’s...why.”

“Why _what_?” he spits. “Why I’ve been excluded from the whole conversation like the awkward houseguest I am?”

“Why I kept the guy a secret.” The words hang between you like a heavy fog.

Jake bristles. “So now this is all my fault?”

“Fucking... _no_ , I’m the idiot here, don’t twist my words.” You toss your shades across the room and grab Jake by his shoulders. “I didn’t want you to be reassigned, all right? I _love_ having you around. I didn’t realize how empty this place was until you waltzed in and filled up all the space like, I don’t know, like a torrential flood. But a good kind of flood, free swimming pool water, now the whole community can stop their eternal rain dance and go cannonball into your personality. _Fuck_.” Somehow your hands have found their way to Jake’s jawline. You’re painfully aware of how little control you have left as your thumbs stroke his cheekbones. “I couldn’t stand the thought of never getting to know you. That’s why.”

Jake clears his throat. His face is warm in your hands. “Seems like a lot of roundabout poppycock.”

You huff a laugh. “Yeah well, you know me. Not a straightforward bone in my body.”

“Isn’t that right.” He twists the mug in his hands. “You know, Strider, this is edging dangerously close to a confession of love.”

“Jesus christ Jake.” You intend to kiss him here in the middle of your living room, but stop short when an unfamiliar ringtone drifts from his pocket. “What’s that?” You have the presence of mind to snatch your hands away from his face.

“Oh!” He hands his tea off to you (you put it on the coffee table) and digs out a shiny new cell phone. “Roxy decided to get me an early birthday present.” He fumbles with the lock screen for a few seconds before it falls away to reveal Pesterchum. “She wants to know if we’ve talked yet.”

You stuff your hands as deep into your pockets as they’ll go. “Guess that’d be an affirmative.”

“S’pose so,” he says. The cheer returns to his voice as he types a response to Roxy. “So what was it you were jesus christ-ing me about?”

_(it was stupid)_

“Did the girls feed you before you came home?”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Play catch-up.**

You return to work on Wednesday. The weight of a soldering iron in your hand calms you as you work on the first prototype of the glasses you designed over the last couple of weeks. Wires stick out everywhere, but this one is only proof of concept, so it doesn't have to be pretty. You miss Jake's presence beside you.

Now that the burglar is in jail, all the bodyguards have been relegated to desk duty. Jake still makes it a point to join you in the lab for lunch.

“Miss me?” you ask with a wink.

“Only horribly,” he says, oblivious to the suggestion in your tone. “I never imagined how positively _boring_ this job could be! They won't even let me play games on my phone to pass the time.”

“The villainous curs.”

“Damn right! But,” he continues with a glance over his shoulder, “don’t tell Jane. She is in charge, after all.”

You snort a shred of lettuce from your sandwich and cough until it comes back out onto your tongue. Gross. “Your displeasure is safe with me, bro.” You swallow the offending greenery and return to your meal while Jake laughs at your misfortune. “If it makes you feel any better, Jane and Roxy get bored too. There's usually not a whole lot going on to keep their departments occupied. You just got here at kind of a weird time.”

Jake’s teeth peek out from beneath his lips as he smiles. “Suppose I picked a good week to show up, then.” His fingers brush against yours when he steals your Mountain Dew for a quick sip. “Although it has left me in a bit of an awkward spot as far as accommodations go.”

“How's that?” you ask around a Dorito.

“I moved from a hotel into your apartment. As much fun as we've had together, I imagine you'll be wanting me out of your curly tresses”—he reaches up and tugs on a heavily-gelled section of your hair—“here pretty soon.”

You snatch Jake’s wrist and hold it between you. Your thumb traces circles against his pulse (you swear it picks up at your touch) as your eyes bore into his. “What part of our conversation last night didn't you get?”

He looks down at your hands, then back up at you with a bewildered expression. “A good deal, apparently!”

“You’re more than welcome to stay. You know what, no, I _insist_ that you stay. I've already paid it off, but you can help pay utilities and we can alternate on paying for dinner. There's no reason for you to go hunting for a place when you already have one.”

Jake throws his arms around your body and squeezes until you think you might pop and deflate. “What would our lives be like if we'd never met, Strider?”

“More oxygen, probably.” You wheeze a breath as he loosens his grip.

Jake hovers inches away from your face. His hands clasp your upper arms and you think his eyes just flicked down to your mouth but the movement was so minute that you can’t be sure. His fingers tighten on your arms and he freezes. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as his brows furrow and his eyes make a decent attempt at bugging out of his skull. The ringtone from last night breaks the tension and Jake lets you go so he can inspect the number displayed on the screen. He mouths, “SBURB?” to you before he answers the call and leaves you to your lunch.

Later that afternoon, the two of you climb into your metallic burnt orange SUV-pickup truck crossover (Jake returned the black SUV yesterday after he was officially reassigned). Jake fawns over the sleek design, but you simply shrug in response as you settle into the driver’s seat for the first time in weeks. “So what did SBURB want at lunch?”

“A woman called for me and left her number. I tried calling her back, but she didn't answer.”

“Hm.” You twist the key in the ignition with more force than necessary.

“Is something the matter, Strider?”

“Why would anything be the matter?” you shoot back. The black pit of jealousy that bubbles in your stomach could hardly be described as “the matter”.

Jake experiments with his seat and ends up flat on his back beside you. “You don’t seem to like my new phone,” he says. “Every time I get a message or a call or so much as mention it, you get a sour look on your face as if the thing has personally wronged you.”

“You haven’t given me your number,” you say. It doesn't help that the device has an uncanny ability to identify the most inopportune times to interrupt your conversations.

Jake bolts upright and takes your phone out of the cupholder. “It completely slipped my mind!” He creates a contact for himself as you drive, then calls his own cell phone so he has your number. “You know, you could have asked instead of silently stewing.”

“Gotta make sure this meat is tender enough to slice with a fork.” You grin when Jake gives a noisy sigh and rolls his eyes.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Enjoy your free meal.**

Jane hasn’t gotten over your fight by Friday, so Jake takes you to dinner on his own to celebrate his official move-in. He chooses a steakhouse half an hour west of your place (you don’t have the heart to tell him it's a tourist restaurant), where he orders the biggest steak on the menu cooked medium rare.

You rest your chin on your fist after you give the waiter your more reasonable order. “You’re never gonna finish that, bro.”

“I think you'd be surprised by how much I can pack away in one sitting!”

You snort. “You sure know how to woo ‘em.”

Jake kicks you under the table.

You catch his foot between your two and cock an eyebrow. “How old are you, again?”

“Twenty-six,” Jake says. He sticks his tongue out at you and you laugh.

You trail one foot along his inner thigh and drop it on the cushioned seat between his legs. You don't miss the heavy flush that rises to his face as he grabs his glass of water. “Problem?”

“Your foot is rather close to no-man’s-land, don’t you think? Wouldn’t want them to become acquainted.”

You shift your foot to rest on the other side of his leg, but not without a smirk in his direction. “Didn't know you were so trigger-happy, English. And a foot fetish to _boot_.”

Jake boos. “That was terrible. Go back to spouting outrageous metaphors.” He squirms in his seat and pulls his phone out, then tosses you an apologetic look as he slides out from behind the table.

You don't hide your aggravation as he hurries to the front doors to take the call. You liked it better when he didn't have a phone. He uses it to talk to everyone _but_ you. You occupy yourself after the first minute by folding an origami sculpture into Jake’s napkin, then into your own when you finish that one. The sculptures wilt as you drum your fingers against the table.

At least ten minutes pass between the time Jake excuses himself and the time that your food arrives, but still he doesn’t return.

The next time your waiter passes, you order the most alcoholic drink on the menu. You sip the drink and glare at Jake’s untouched plate. Yours is untouched as well, but that’s not as important (or as irritating).

You’re halfway through your second glass of whatever cocktail you ordered when Jake slips back into the booth. He withers under your oppressive gaze as he cuts a bite out of his cold steak. “Sorry about that,” he says. He eyes the pair of curvy glasses in front of you. “What are you drinking?”

“Dunno,” you say.

“Oh...well is it any good?”

“It’s strong.”

Jake crushes your origami against his lips without a care for the minimal effort you put into it.

You stab your fork into your own steak and tear a bite off with your teeth. “So who was so important that you skipped out on our dinner date for a solid twenty minutes?” You plant your elbow on the table and gesture with your speared steak.

He waves the waiter off when they ask if you want another round of drinks. “Her name is Aradia Megido. She saw me in the papers.”

Your vision goes just a little bit green around the edges. “Cute fangirl? Can’t blame you. Groupies are great fucks, ask Bro.” To your knowledge, he’s never actually been fond of groupies, but Jake doesn’t know that.

The barb is especially effective. Jake flags down your poor waiter. “Could we get a couple doggie bags and our check?” He pays for your meals, boxes them up, and drags you out to the car, where he holds out his hand expectantly. “Keys.”

“No fuck you, this is my car.”

“You’re drunk.”

“‘S your fault.” You hand over your keys with a grumble and climb into the passenger seat. Halfway home, you roll your head over to look at Jake, who focuses on the road, lips set in a thin line. “Never told me who this Aradia chick is.”

“She’s a well-known archaeologist.”

“What the fuck does she want with you?”

Jake breathes out through his nose. “She called to offer me a job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk lives in a condo building that sells its apartments rather than renting them out. Just to explain that comment.
> 
> At some point I'm going to reenter the tags one by one so that they're in alphabetical order so uh. Don't freak out if you're around while I'm doing it.
> 
> Idk there was probably something else I wanted to say but I can't think of it. Good morning, everybody!


	13. i really am sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **> Dirk: Be drunk again.**

Drunk was never a thing you stopped being. “You have a job.”

“I have a frightfully _dull_ job.” Jake adjusts his hands on the steering wheel.

“Yeah but it’s here. With me. Us,” you say. Even through a curtain of cocktails (pff, cock), you think better of a drunken confession. “Where does Arabia want you to go anyway?”

“Aradia.”

You roll your eyes, and your head goes with them. “Whatever.”

Jake shifts in his seat and glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Istanbul.”

You reel as though you’ve been sucker punched. After you take a moment to process what he just said, you turn toward him as much as you can under the restraint of your seatbelt. “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you.”

“You most certainly did not.”

“Well you said no, didn’t you?” You lean across the console and await his response.

Jake is silent.

“What the fuck, bro? I thought we had a thing here. I ask you to move in, so you take the first opportunity to get the fuck out of dodge? Not cool.”

“I do believe you’re a belligerent drunk, Strider.” Jake taps his fingers against the dash while he waits at a stop light. “I told her I’d think about it. It’s a good opportunity, and my poor shoes are longing to stray. I haven’t stayed in one place for this long since I was a little tyke.”

You sit back against your door, hair crushed against the warm glass of the window. “Did I do something?”

Jake makes a noise of frustration. “It’s not about you.” The words cut deeper than he could know.

_(it was stupid)_

“Hm.” You swing your legs around to sit properly and stare out the window. “Go then. If we don’t matter.”

“I think we should discuss this when you’re feeling more yourself.”

“I feel fucking amazing, thanks.” The lights that rush by your window nauseate you, and you wish the car wouldn’t rock so much. Was the road always this bumpy?

The snort Jake gives sends a rush of shamed heat to your face. “You look like you’re about to vomit.”

“Didn’t drink that much.”

“I would bet there were several shots in each of those drinks.”

Your arm is dead weight when you lift it to flip him off.

Jake pulls into the parking garage and shuts off your car. “You know, I was legitimately sorry for abandoning you until I came back to find you piss drunk.”

“I was legitimately sorry for getting piss drunk until you said that.” You really aren’t sorry at all.

Jake helps you climb out of the car and slings your arm around himself. He doesn’t complain when you drop your face against his shoulder. “I don’t believe you’re as drunk as you’re pretending to be.”

You take a deep breath of his pine scent. “You smell nice.”

“I smell the same as I always do.”

“You always smell nice. I’m just saying so now.”

“Do you make a habit of sniffing people when you’re drunk?”

You laugh against his skin. Dull electricity blooms across your face when you realize how easy it would be to kiss his neck. “Carry me.”

“Absolutely not! We were just fighting, don’t change the subject.”

You let your knees buckle beneath you and collapse against him, held up only by the arm he has around your waist. “Guess I’ll sleep here then.”

Jake lowers you to the ground. “I suppose you will!” He starts for the elevator, but has to turn back when he remembers your dinners are still in the car.

His pant leg brushes past you, so you grab it and hold on until he looks down, exasperation written in his features. “I don’t want to fight anymore. Strife me.”

“I hope you realize the irony of that statement.”

You pull yourself to your feet (almost at the cost of Jake’s pants). “Humor me.”

“Only if you walk to the roof on your own.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Punch drunk.**

There is no goddamn way you’ll win this strife. You kind of don’t plan on it. Your body feels like a lead brick when you throw the first punch (and miss horribly). Jake dodges, but doesn’t move to attack, so you try to kick him. You lose your already tenuous balance when he grabs your leg, and pinwheel your arms as you fall.

Jake catches your hand to keep you upright and grins. “This is a bit embarrassing for you.”

You tug on his arm. The two of you go down together. Your ass hits the gravel, which sends a shock of pain up your spine.

Jake lands on his knees, your leg still tucked under his arm and his hand in yours.

“Well isn’t this compromising.” You hook your leg behind Jake’s back and pull him closer, reach out and push his glasses off his face.

He blinks. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve never seen you without your glasses. You even slept in them Sunday night.”

Without the square frames around his eyes, Jake’s face loses all hints of dorkiness. You want to order him a lifetime supply of contacts so you can see the uninterrupted outline of his features from now on. “You’re staring, Strider.”

“Even I am only so strong when faced with handsome men.”

Jake shoves against your shoulder. “Apologizing would be easier than kissing my arse.”

“What no. You are a seriously good-looking dude.”

“You’ve had entirely too much to drink tonight.”

“I won’t argue with that.” You slip Jake’s glasses onto your head while he squawks with dismay. “So we done fighting?”

Jake’s hand darts toward you, and in your drunkenness you miss his wrist. He settles your shades on his nose and grins. “Only if I get to wear these tonight.” He flicks his own glasses down over your eyes. “You can keep mine as a deposit.”

The world goes blurry. You wonder how the fuck he sees in these things. “I’m not gonna be able to walk like this, dude.” A (totally manly) squeal escapes your mouth when Jake scoops you up in his arms, your knees slung over one elbow and the small of your back pressed against the other. You lay the back of your left hand over your forehead and fake a swoon. “My fuckin’ prince.” You press your ear against his chest so you can listen to his heart dance.

He must notice, because he chuckles as he picks his way toward your floor one step at a time. “Comfortable?”

“Fuck no, there’s no headrest on this thing.”

“You seem to have found a suitable substitute.”

An involuntary flush rises to your face. You hope it’s masked by the ruddy color of intoxication you already wear.

Jake sets you down in front of your door to unlock it before he leads you to your room and sits you down on the bed. “Do you think you’ll get sick tonight?” When you shrug, he drags your trash can across the room. He pauses in your doorframe and looks over his shoulder. “I really am sorry. I know I can be inconsiderate.”

“Shut the fuck up, dude, you didn’t do anything wrong. If Arabia just got back to you she’s probably hella busy. You don’t have any control over that.”

“I’m apologizing all the same.”

“If you don’t stop it right now I’m going to drag you back to the roof for another strife.” You yawn, and frown when a grin crawls across Jake’s lips. “I fucking mean it.”

Jake waves as he slips out of the room. “Night Strider.”

You hum and lay back against your pillow.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Pout (for real this time).**

On Sunday morning, Jake announces his decision. “I’m taking the job.”

You sigh into your coffee and cross one ankle over the other in his lap. “Yeah?”

“You don’t seem too surprised.”

“I thought you said yes on Friday, to be honest.” You run a hand through your hair, stiff with yesterday’s gel. “So when do you leave?”

Jake averts his eyes. “She bought me a ticket for tomorrow night.”

Your throat is dry even as you take a drink. “Oh.” The whole room is suddenly too cold. You wonder if you cranked the air conditioner at some point. “Need help packing?”

“I’ve got everything squared away for the most part. I’d like to see the girls again before I leave, though. Dave too.”

You gesture to his pocket. “Get to planning your going away party. Gonna break their poor little hearts, tears all over the place, coating every surface until we’re reduced to wading around in a salty pool of disappointment—”

“Dirk.”

“—which sounds vaguely dirty. Not my intention, but hey, I will roll with the jizz tears. What an epidemic, suddenly men everywhere can ejaculate only through their eyeballs, greatly reducing their ability to procreate and also causing a whole lot of acute blindness what with their eyelids stuck together and—”

“ _Dirk._ ” Jake is across the couch, your shoulders in his hands. “You can hardly pretend you aren’t upset about this. You’ve been positively sulking since Friday. Not to mention your drunken outburst.” He runs his fingers down your arms and takes your hands. “I promise I won’t forget about you. I’ll pester you all the time, and I’ll call when I can.”

Your stomach sits somewhere around the ground floor of your apartment building. You nick Jake’s phone from his pocket and open Pesterchum. “You don’t even have my chumhandle.”

“Well I was about to ask for it!”

“You’re killing me here, English. Making promises to a poor girl with your fingers crossed behind your back. How will my heart go on?” While you hold Jake’s phone hostage, you type out a message to Roxy.

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 10:10

[GT] Tally-ho! Good morning to you sweet lass.  
[TG] lmao mornin jakey  
[TG] how did the whole breakin it to dirk thing go?  
[GT] What thing?  
[TG] yknow about itsanbull  
[TG] *istanbul  
[TG] is he cryin in his room  
[TG] he can be p dramatic after all  
[GT] Can he now.  
[TG] well yeah idk if u ever met the guy  
[TG] liek this one time he totes flipped the fuck out cause i showed janey his bby pics  
[TG] ne way on a scale of one to tne  
[TG] how torn up are you  
[TG] *ten  
[GT] Why would I be the one who was torn up?  
[TG] shit  
[TG] *is he  
[GT] Good morning, Roxy.  
[TG] heya dirky boy  
[TG] fyi jake aint THAT much of a cornball  
[TG] usually

“You told Roxy before you told me?”

Jake rubs the back of his neck. “Um.”

“You told me _last_?” You hold a hand to your heart in mock offense (you are, in fact, incredibly offended). “My maiden heart can’t stand this, bro.” As you lean back against the arm of the couch, you toss the phone at Jake. “So have you already set up the going away party?”

He doesn’t look at you. “I believe Roxy has something in mind. She wants us to meet at the hospital in a few hours.”

“Does she want us to dress nice?”

“Not that she told me. But apparently there’s someone she wants me to meet. Or rather, who wants to meet me. I do hope she isn’t trying to set me up with some poor girl. Or chap!” Jake forces a laugh. “They would only be disappointed.”

You swing your feet out of his lap and stand. “Doubt it. I’m gonna go shower.”

“Don’t drown!”

“I’ll do my best.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Approach with trepidation.**

As much as you want to believe that Roxy wouldn’t take pity on some poor groupie’s ill-advised crush, you can’t shake the sick feeling in your stomach as you approach Bro’s room. When you enter, you find that you and Jake are the first to arrive to the going away gathering (it’s in a hospital room, it hardly counts as a party).

“Hey look, it’s our little celebrity, here to say goodbye before he moves on from us little people to bigger and better things.” Bro fidgets against the back of his upright air mattress. “I would have bought you a going away present but, as circumstances may have it, that wasn’t really an option.” He crosses his arms behind his head. “So when do the strippers get here? And should I be looking forward to sticking ones in a swole dude’s thong or a busty babe’s boob sling?”

You resist the urge to facepalm at his roundabout question.

A blush creeps up Jake’s neck. “Neither, I’m afraid! Unless _that’s_ who Roxy...oh god, Strider, you don’t think she would…? Not to a hospital of all places?”

In all honesty, she just might.

“I’m gonna go stand guard just in case.”

The mortified expression on Jake’s face as you leave the room is adorable.

You catch Roxy as the elevator opens. With her are Jane and the liaison from Cherubim. You raise an eyebrow. “What’s she doing here?”

“Wow, rude as always. Dirk, meet Calliope Umbra. Callie, Dirk Strider.”

Calliope offers you a firm handshake. “Delighted.” She sounds English. “I was hoping to make the acquaintance of the man who apprehended our burglar.”

You gesture down the hall. “He's in Bro’s room, anxiously awaiting my report on the possible strippers.”

Roxy snickers. “I shoulda thought of that.”

“I think his face would have melted off from sheer embarrassment.”

When you lead the three women through your Bro’s door, Jake hops to his feet from where he sits in the chair by the bed. His eyes widen when they pass over Calliope. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” He takes her hand and tosses her a charming smile. You feel a twist of jealousy in your stomach. “Jake English.”

Calliope chuckles behind her free hand. “I know who you are. I’m Calliope Umbra.”

Jake stiffens. “Umbra?” He studies her face, jaw tight. “Are you—”

“She’s the liaison from Cherubim,” Roxy says. “You probably recognize her from when she took a tour of SBURB a couple weeks ago.”

His shoulders remain tense, but Jake’s posture loses its edge. “Of course. Strider and I watched your group in the robotics lab. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Calliope’s hands drop to her sides. “On behalf of Cherubim, I want to thank you for your aid in the burglary cases. It’s a great deal of weight off all our shoulders, and I imagine that the debacle will form something of a bridge between our companies.” She reaches into the bag slung over her shoulder and pulls out two envelopes, which unmistakably contain cards. She hands the green envelope to Jake. “Both from Cherubim and myself personally.” Calliope turns to Bro, who sulks forgotten in his bed. “One for you as well, Mr. Strider, as condolences for getting caught up in our mess.”

“Fuck yeah, presents.” Bro accepts the envelope and tears it open. Inside is a _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff_ greeting card intended for a teenager’s sixteenth birthday. He holds it to his heart. “I don’t even know you, but marry me. I will formally become your sugar daddy.”

Roxy grins when Calliope points to her. “I had it on good authority that you would appreciate that more than something more sentimental.”

“Your Freudian slip is showing,” says Roxy.

“Goddammit.”

“Um, excuse me, Miss Umbra, but,” Jake says, “I really can’t accept this.” He brandishes the pair of hundred dollar bills that were tucked neatly inside his own card. “I was only doing my job, and a poor one at that.”

Calliope pushes his extended hand away. “You deserve it.”

“All I did was shoot a man in the leg!”

You take the money from his hand and stuff it in your pocket (you’ll sneak it into his suitcase later). “Gift horse, dude.”

“Not to mention, I suspect that the man I shot is related to you, Miss Umbra! I do believe I heard that name sometime this week while doing paperwork. I can hardly accept a reward for harming your family, even if he did shoot at mine!”

Roxy claps a hand over Jake’s mouth. “Hey, maybe let’s not talk about that right now, okay?”

“It’s all right, Miss Lalonde.” For the first time since you met her, you realize Calliope’s face is familiar. Strikingly so, if you admit it, although you would never have recognized the sharp lines of her features for the pleasant smile she wears in place of a scowl. “Part of the reason I came was to apologize on my brother’s behalf.” She motions to the chair at Bro’s bedside. “May I?” She sits at your nod. “Caliborn and I have never been on the best of terms, but I do feel somewhat responsible for him, since I’m his only family. I followed him to the States when he ran away from England years ago. I’ve tried to keep an eye on him, but lost track about six months ago when The Felt went off the radar following a very public altercation with the Midnight Crew.”

“So that’s who he was stealing our shit for?” you ask.

She nods. “That’s the popular theory, at least. Caliborn won’t talk. The police told me that they suspect The Felt’s surgeon Stitch needed the technology to treat injuries sustained in the fight. It’s all speculation at this point, but I don’t imagine they’re too far off.” Calliope rises to her feet and adjusts her bag on her shoulder. “That’s all I really had to say. I’m pleased to have met you,” she says to you, Bro, and Jake. “My chumhandle is in that card, in case you ever need something. And I’m so sorry.” She places a hand on Bro’s arm, but he waves her off.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you’re an extension of your brother.”

A faint (sardonic? wow what) smile crosses Calliope’s lips. “I suppose I’m not anymore.” She crosses the room and takes Roxy’s hand. “Pester me later, won’t you?”

Roxy claps her on the shoulder. “You got it, Callie.”

“All right then. Enjoy your going away party. And good luck, Mr. English.” Calliope offers a last smile to Roxy before she takes her leave.

You raise an eyebrow, but Roxy masterfully avoids your gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow did this chapter ever get away from me. Enjoy the drunk fluff. Also angst.
> 
> There's so much talk and so little action wow.
> 
> Someday I will get to work on those tags lmao.


	14. the most awkward position since the advent of the sixty-nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Obligatory Strider-esque summary.](https://youtu.be/dQ4M-kzMACw?t=81)

**> Dirk: Get this party started.**

“So, who wants the dope cake that Janey and I totes forgot in her car?” Bro raises his hand and she giggles. “Not you, mister.” Roxy leans against the wall. “When did the doctor say you could start eating again?”

“They started me on broth today, it’s fucking miserable.” Bro throws his hands into the air. “Chicken or beef, Mr. Strider? And by chicken or beef, I mean watery essence of chicken or beef, which doesn’t actually count as food. Just bury me now, it’d be kinder.”

Roxy ignores him and looks over to you. “Wanna escort me to the car?” There’s something significant in the tone of her voice that you can’t place.

You shrug. “Whatever. Don’t miss me too much,” you say over your shoulder as you leave the room at Roxy’s side.

The derisive snort from Bro is impossible to miss.

Roxy’s arm brushes yours as the two of you enter the elevator. The doors close and open on silence. You sneak several curious glances at the unperturbed expression on Roxy's face. She leads you across the street from the hospital into your own parking garage, where Jane’s VW Bug is silent beside your SUV.

You lean against the hood while she unlocks the door. “So am I just here to look good, or…?”

“Well duh,” Roxy says, cake in hand as she straightens up. The confection is iced in white and green. It reads “Good Luck, Jake!” in curly letters that could only be Jane’s. Roxy kicks the baby blue door of the car shut behind her and hands you the cake. “On second thought, you make a good pack mule.”

You give an exaggerated groan for her benefit. “I feel so objectified.”

“Oh please.” Roxy waves off your complaint. “Maybe if I asked you to strip down to your puppety thong.”

“I don’t wear thongs.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t own any.”

You clamp down on your response, because you do in fact own one (that Roxy herself gave you as another of her many gag gifts). Instead, you fix on her as steely a gaze as you can manage from behind your shades. “You and Miss Umbra seemed pretty buddy buddy.”

An easy smile overtakes Roxy’s lips, but she rocks on her feet and toys with the hem of her shirt. “Yeah, we’ve talked a few times since she visited SBURB. Y’know, liaison stuff.”

“You’re not a liaison.”

“Nah, but I’m way better at making nice than whoever _is_ our liaison.” Roxy shrugs. “‘Sides, we kinda...clicked?”

You fight the smirk that tugs at your lips. “I think the more accurate term is ‘smacked’.”

Roxy throws out her arms (one hand whacks the window of a stranger’s car). “I didn’t hit her that hard! And she was totally cool about it, even though it was the least smooth thing _ever_. We were destined to become friends.”

“Should I be concerned about my status as your bffsy five-ever?”

“You and Janey have got that position locked the fuck down, you know that.”

“Then why are you fidgeting like a goddamn marabunta crawled up your leg and decided to make you their queen?”

“I'm not fidgeting!” She tugs on the corner of her candy pink off-the-shoulder top. When she notices your line of sight, she crosses her arms over her chest and juts out her bottom lip in defiance.

You shift the weight of the cake to your left hand. “So you really just asked me to come so I could carry the cake?”

Roxy brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Jane wanted a minute to say goodbye.”

Your heart twists in your chest.

“Don’t make that face. Jane deserves as much of a chance as you do, Dirk.”

“I have no idea what face you’re talking about. My face is like a black hole: all the expressions get sucked in, but nothing ever comes out. It’s a singularity of utter stoicism.” The cake is heavy now that you think about it. “Can we go back now?”

“I’m waiting for Janey to pester me.”

You slide the cake onto the roof of the Bug. “You could’ve told me that _before_ handing me the ten-ton confection.”

“I thought she would have finished up sooner. Just because I think she deserves a chance with Jake doesn’t mean I think he’s gonna go for it.”

“Harsh.”

Roxy offers a one-shouldered shrug. “She knows what she’s getting into.”

“Is this the part where you tell me I should get over him too?”

She fiddles with her phone. Your question goes unanswered. “Are you okay? We didn’t really get to talk this morning, and you can’t be as chill about this as you’re pretending to be.”

You sigh and run a hand down you face. “Jake told you about Friday, didn’t he?”

“Ohhh yeah.” Roxy hops onto the hood with a thud. “So how much of it was the alcohol, and how much was just some good old-fashioned Strider assholery? ‘Cause let’s face it, I love you, but you’re kind of a dick like, seventy-five percent of the time.”

Your eyes search the parking garage for any way out of this conversation. “Are you absolutely sure Jane knows she’s supposed to tell you when she’s done with Jake? For all we know they’re sitting on either side of Bro’s bed, refusing to look at each other and putting him in the most awkward position since the advent of the sixty-nine. We’d be doing them a kindness if we headed back now.” You reach for the cake, but Roxy catches your hand and levels you a serious look. You settle back against the car with a groan. “Get out the fucking mic, I’m only saying this shit once.” You allow a moment for Roxy to mime a microphone. “I’m embarrassed as fuck, all right? Bad decisions central, when will I ever learn, that shebang. Or hebang, as it were, but you get the idea.”

“And how do you feel about Jake’s sudden decision to depart, Mr. Strider?” Roxy asks into her imaginary microphone before she shoves it in your face.

_(it was stupid)_

“Not great, Miss Lalonde. End of interview? End of interview.” Her phone rings, so you allow yourself a smirk of triumph.

“This ain't over.”

You find that debatable, but say nothing.

The two of you return to Bro’s room to find Jake and Jane doubled over one another in laughter while Bro smirks from his bed. You swallow down the knot in your throat as they straighten up.

“So what’s the joke?”

They spare you a look of barely-contained hysteria before they burst into another round of giggles.

You raise an eyebrow, unwilling to admit you’re miffed by the apparent fact that you’re the joke. It's you. You look to Bro and tilt your head.

His smug grin doesn’t diminish under your scrutiny. “We were just planning the wedding.”

 “What?”

Jake claps a hand down on your shoulder. “Well, the tabloids already think you’re married to Jane and Roxy, so we figured why not add me to the family? We could have a lavish ceremony and—” He cuts off to huff a laugh. “—and you can carry the three of us over the threshold!”

Why do you leave your friends alone with Bro? “Only if I get to kiss all the brides.”

“Of course!” Jake pats your cheek. “It would hardly count as a proper wedding if you didn’t.”

Roxy butts in between the two of you. “We should have like, a super-awkward four-person kiss!” She attempts to mime the arrangement.

Bro snorts. “You have to let me officiate this shit. I will get licensed just so I can be up there when the four of you lean in, lapping at each other like dogs who just spent the last week in a desert and have found the oasis that will save them from certain doom. I will also act as your wedding photographer.”

While the rest of the room snickers over the scenario, you set the cake down on Bro’s table. For the first time you wonder how Roxy plans to cut it. “Did you bring a knife?”

“Oh!” Jane retrieves her purse, from which she retrieves exactly that. She offers it to Jake. “Want to do the honors?”

He takes the knife handle-first and waits while you take the lid off the cake. “Would you like to split this beauty or shall we eat it piece by piece like sensible gentlefolk?”

It hits you that he’s really about to fly halfway across the world.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Regret everything.**

You take Jake to work the next day so he can complete severance paperwork. Technically, you’re on the clock, but your mind is too far gone for you to focus on the glasses prototype. A host of regrets prances across the field of your brain like so many horses. Every so often one stops to graze and you’re flooded with self-hatred.

If only you had danced with Jake— _really_ danced with him—at Club Derse, he would never have danced with Jane, you would never have seen Caliborn at the bar, wouldn’t have gotten into the fight, and wouldn’t have provoked him into the shootout at the theatre. Without the shootout, Jake wouldn’t be leaving.

If only you had been upfront with Jake about your sushi date, if only you had told him then how he turns your heart and stomach into Olympian acrobats, the gnawing ache in your chest wouldn’t be present. You might have had the courage to kiss him by now, and if you’d had the courage to kiss him, maybe Jake wouldn’t be leaving.

If only you had told him this morning—when he took your hand and asked if you were _really_ all right—that his decision caused a little piece of your soul to break off and float away into the abyss, that you aren’t sure if you can go on without him now that he’s been in your life, you could have changed his mind and Jake wouldn’t be leaving.

_(this is your fault)  
(it was stupid) _

Roxy pesters you around lunch time.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 12:24

[TG] how u holdin up?  
[TT] I’ve been better.  
[TG] yeah me 2  
[TG] i didnt expect it to be so hard  
[TG] watchin jake get ready 2 leave us  
[TT] Yeah.  
[TG] y couldnt arabia or w/e get him a plane for the weekend?  
[TG] we could probly all use a couple days  
[TT] Flights to Turkey are few and far between.  
[TT] Are you going to send him off at the airport with me?  
[TT] It’ll be a real party. Tearful goodbyes and passionate kisses for all.  
[TG] i will if u need me  
[TG] but i get the feeling this is smth u need to do on ur own  
[TT] He’s your friend too.  
[TG] ive said everythin i wanted to  
[TG] u got a loose end or two  
[TT] You got me. Sloppiest prototype ever, wires sticking out every which way. Don’t touch, you might get electrocuted and lose a finger or whatever other appendage you chose to touch the stripped wire with.  
[TT] Is he still with Jane?  
[TG] idk havent seen them  
[TG] quitting involves mountains of paperwork tho  
[TT] I wouldn’t know.  
[TG] i gotta get back 2 work  
[TG] pester me tonite n let me kno how it goes  
[TG] ill have the wedding bells ready  
[TT] Will do.  
[TG] <3

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering  timaeusTestified [TT]

The stares of your coworkers and supervisor bore into your body as you twist and untwist the wires on your prototype. You wonder if they know what’s on your mind, or if they assume you’re still worried about Bro. They get their answer around five o’clock. You toss glances over your shoulder at Jane’s office every few minutes for the preceding hour, and discard your work to the table when she steps out alongside Jake.

They share a long hug at the door (jealousy doesn’t rear its ugly, gut-wrenching head like usual, and you’re thankful for that) under the gaze of everyone in the lab. Roxy bounds out of cybersecurity and wraps him up in her arms as well. Tears glisten in the girls’ eyes as they drag promises of daily correspondence out of Jake, whose eyes swim in shallow pools of sadness as well.

Jake turns to you and holds out an arm. “Care to join our blubbering, Strider?”

“I have a reputation to uphold.”

Roxy scoffs. She drags you into the hug anyway, not that you mind. She chokes out a laugh when the four of you break apart. “Everybody’s staring.”

“Well yeah,” you say. “They have front row tickets to the four sexiest people in the room sensually groping one another. Hell, they might even be hoping we exchange saliva.” You cast a meaningful glance around the room. Multiple people hunch back over their work as if you won’t notice. “Ready to skip town, English?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He allows one final hug from each of the girls before he pulls away from them. He waves. “I’ll pester you as soon as I touch down in Turkey, all right?” When they nod, he spins on his heel and strides toward the exit.

You follow him to your car, which you both climb into. The half hour drive north to George Bush Intercontinental Airport is so tense you sense not only past, present, and future, but conditional and perfect. Jake’s flight doesn’t leave until almost nine o’clock, but you insist that he engage the TSA long before boarding call.

Jake checks his suitcase at the front—”Heavens no I don’t plan to smuggle my pistols in a carry-on! How often do you think I’ve flown?”—before you endure the security check together. Six-thirty finds Jake across from you at a tiny bistro table, where he sips a caramel frappuccino through a green straw. He leans back in his seat, expression more grim than you’ve seen it since Bro was shot.

“What’s up?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re brooding.”

“Am not!” Jake claps a hand to his chest. “I have never been known to brood. It’s unbecoming.”

You flinch a little bit on the inside because Roxy takes great pleasure when she tells you about your brooding face. “Just an observation. Don’t get your skull-print knickers in a knot.” You drink your own coffee, a warm dark cherry mocha (one of Bro’s favorites). “Figured you’d be itching for your ride to olly the fuck out.”

Jake’s fingers clench around the plastic cup in his hands. “I’ve never left anyone behind before. Except my grandma, but she understands the travel bug. It isn’t sad when I leave her.” He rubs the condensation from his drink between his fingers, eyes fixated on the water as it sinks into his skin. “I suppose I didn’t expect it to hurt?”

You can’t help but reach out and touch his forearm, even as your stomach swoops like a plane and stalls in the middle of a sweet barrel roll. “Roxy will leave you no fewer than a hundred messages on Pesterchum between here and Istanbul.”

“What about you?” His eyes are open and honest as he searches your face for an answer.

The roof of your mouth dries up faster than you can quench it with saliva. “I might send you an ironic postcard every now and then.” You slide your fingers up his arm and allow your lips to tilt upward when he smiles, teeth and all.

“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

“I can only hope.”

At eight twenty-five, you and Jake lounge side-by-side in uncomfortable blue chairs near his gate, legs and arms pressed together. Jake’s entire body stiffens when a barely-intelligible voice accompanies the rise of his flight to the top of the electronic boarding display.

“Turkish thirty-four now boarding!”

Jake pushes himself to his feet. He bounces on his toes as he watches his fellow passengers line up outside the gate to board. “Well.”

You stand, your arms crossed over your chest. “Well.”

“This is goodbye for now, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be goodbye. It can be see you later, or be back soon, or anything else that doesn’t sound like you’ll never be graced with my rad as fuck presence again. Don’t be such a downer, dude.” Your chest is so tight you can hardly draw a proper breath.

Jake throws his arms around you and buries his face in your collarbone. “Don’t tell the girls, but I’ll miss you most.”

The half-hysterical chuckle that escapes your throat is nothing but a reflex. “Their poor hearts will be so broken when they find out you liked me best. How could I do that to them?”

With a watery impersonation of a grin, Jake lets go of you. He rubs his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I’d better get in line then.” He takes his first step toward the other side of the world.

You don’t realize you’ve caught his wrist until he turns back with questions in his eyes, but you’re glad that some part of you thought to stop him. “Jake.”

“Yes?”

Self-control flies out the window. This is your last chance before he’s gone for who knows how long. To hell with the consequences, this is a dire emergency. You clasp Jake’s hand between both of your own and rub your thumbs against his palm. Your eyes never leave his as you raise the hand to your mouth. You press the inside of Jake’s wrist against your lips and hold it there. The world falls away, and for several long seconds it’s just you and Jake suspended in time.

His eyes are wide when you release him. The hand falls to his side and still his gaze is locked onto you. His eyebrows turn down at the outer corners as he licks his lips. He swallows.

Your held breath burns in your chest.

Then Jake takes a step backward and flees into the boarding line.

You’re left frozen in the middle of the airport as static buzzes in your ears. Hot humiliation and shivering shame attack your skin with equal force as he disappears onto the plane with a final glance back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long A/N incoming. It's like FFNet all over again, only this one isn't in the middle of the chapter.
> 
> So much for a predictable posting schedule! I'm so sorry, but last week was midterms + other school stuff + my brother's birthday + a 12.5 hour shift at work. Just typing that out makes me tired. Not to mention it's hard for me to write about people with friends and actual social lives sometimes because it gives me The SadsTM. And underconfidence as a writer bred from a host of influences. I got problems sometimes yo.
> 
> But beyond self-flagellation/lowkey complaining, this marks what I consider to be the End of Act 1. To commemorate this event, I will share with you the few sentences that served as an outline for this portion of _Electronic Skin_ :
> 
> _Dirk Strider is a robotics engineer for the SBURB Corporation. Due to the valuable nature of his work, Dirk’s apartment is attacked by an espionage agent from Cherubim Industries, Caliborn. The head of investigations and security, Jane Crocker, assigns Dirk a bodyguard following the incident, despite his protests. In steps private security agent Jake English, perpetually chipper, socially awkward, and...kinda hot? Fine, Dirk can work with this. But together with Roxy Lalonde, head of cybersecurity, Jane quickly arranges a truce between SBURB and Cherubim and sends Jake on to his next adventure._
> 
> As you may have noticed, plans changed. I also may or may not have comically poor control over my need for fluffy and angsty filler.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this story, you make my day. <3


	15. you guys know me, mr. overdramatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **> Dirk: It was stupid.**

_(it was stupid)_  
_(it was stupid)  
_ _(it was stupid)_

The words repeat in your head, a mantra of self-loathing that follows you to the nearest convenience store (how many Krogers are there in this city?), where you buy the biggest case of Natural Light you can find and stow it in the back seat of your car. You return home, but you don’t think you can stomach the empty apartment any better than the beer you just bought. Instead you heft the case onto your shoulder and head for the park across the street, where the gate was closed and locked half an hour ago. You cast a glance around before you set the beer on the wall, reach up, and haul yourself over. You’ve never claimed to be a saint.

Once inside, you make your way up the massive spiraling mount just beyond the gate. You crack open a beer at the top and drink half the can in one go. Not without a gag or two afterward, but you didn’t buy Natty Light for the flavor. You lie down on a bench and stare up at the indistinct haze of the light-polluted sky. Somewhere up there, Jake hurtles at five hundred seventy miles per hour toward a foreign city, where marvelous adventure awaits.

The pulse of his wrist still beats against your lips.

You finish your first beer and replace it with a new one. Four (six) beers in, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Dull vibrations spider across your leg as you try to pull it out of your pocket. In the process, you roll off the bench with a yelp. Your phone continues to vibrate, but you can no longer find the motivation to see who is so desperate for your attention. Warm concrete presses rough against your cheek, like hardened callouses.

You push yourself upright and pop open a new can of beer while you check your messages.

tipsyGnostalgic  [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified  [TT] at 9:59

[TG] so howd it go  
[TG] was it just liek the movise  
[TG] “dont leave me jake!”  
[TG] “ill never let u go dirk”  
[TG] *movies  
[TG] dirk?  
[TG] im sorry that wasnt cool  
[TG] u can come 2 my place  
[TG] theres vodka and also me  
[TG] we can cry together and watch the shittiest romdrams u want  
[TG] dirk hey answer me  
[TG] DIRK  
[TG] im comin over u cant just ignore me  
[TG] ill be there in a little while  
[TG] omg dirk WHERE R U  
[TG] pls come home im worried  
[TG] im stayin the nite  
[TG] if ur not home by the time i wake up  
[TT] Hey.  
[TG] i will call the police  
[TG] COME HOME  
[TT] Not sure I cna walk.  
[TT] *can  
[TG] where are u ill pick u up  
[TT] McGovern.  
[TG] dirk the park is closed  
[TT] What’s your point?  
[TG] le sign  
[TT] I’m on the mount.  
[TG] ill be there in 5ish  
[TT] You’re my favorite.

tipsyGnostalgic  [TG] ceased pestering  timaeusTestified  [TT]

The echo of Roxy’s footsteps precedes her. She nudges your knee with the toe of her shoe. “You awake?”

You groan in response.

“This ain’t a healthy way of dealing with your feelings, Dirk.” Roxy tosses the empty beer cans back into the case before she offers you a hand.

For the second time in three days, you find yourself drunk with an arm slung around someone else’s shoulders for support. You lay your head against Roxy’s (she smells like cotton candy). A stabbing pain strikes your heart and you trip over your own feet. “Fuck.” With Roxy’s help, you climb back over the wall and make your way toward your apartment. You don’t stop until you’re sat on your own couch, the beer safely stored in your refrigerator.

Roxy hands you a glass of water and sits down on the middle cushion. “You wanna binge Netflix or something?”

You sling your legs over Roxy’s lap (Jake would rest his chin on your knees, but otherwise ignore you in favor of the television). “No.”

“You wanna talk about what happened?”

“Fuck no.”

She pushes your legs off. “I’m gonna have a drink too.” Roxy grimaces at the first sip she takes when she returns. “Why’d you have to buy Natty Light?”

“I deserve it.” You down a quarter of your glass of water.

“Why?”

You stare at the empty hallway. “Already said I don't feel like talking about it.”

“Shitty beer is a pretty steep self-punishment, mister.” Roxy lays her head on your shoulder. “So either you’re going to tell me what happened or I'm gonna sit here until you do.”

“Hope you're comfortable.” You pull out your phone and open a barely-used news app. You read the top article,  then follow a link, then another, until you're fuck deep in the dark side of the Internet. Roxy nurses the last of her second beer beside you when you give up. “I told him. Kind of.”

She straightens in the seat and fixes her eyes on you. “Kind of?”

“I kissed his hand. But I think he got the idea.”

Roxy hums. “What’d he say? ‘Sorry mate, but my plump arse is a little too heterosexual for this malarkey’?”

“He ran away.”

“Oh honey.” Roxy strokes your hair and croons apologies on Jake’s behalf.

You sigh. You could use another beer. “You know what he told me right before I had to go fuck everything up?” You continue when Roxy makes an interrogative noise. “He said he'd miss me the most. That’s why I did it. Fuck.”

_(it was stupid)_

Roxy’s fingers still on your scalp. “Maybe you should pester him in the morning.”

“What, just shoot him a message like ‘hey I'm in love with you, no homo’?”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Ugh.” You extricate yourself from Roxy’s arms and start for the kitchen.

Roxy places herself between you and the refrigerator. “No more for you.”

“Will you let me have one if I answer your question? Because the answer is no, but I think I could have been. Y’know, given a little more time.” You lean back against the counter and rub your hands over your face. “But who the fuck am I kidding, he told me himself that he doesn't understand the point of dating. I'm a deluded piece of shit.” A pop and fizz grabs your attention. You take the beer Roxy offers you. “Cheers.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Clean up after drunk Dirk.**

You wake early the next morning in your bed, Roxy snuggled against your chest, with no recollection of how you got here. You grope for your phone and check the time, which is a quarter past too fucking early. Pesterchum is open. Your heart sinks when you read the solid wall of half-garbled orange text.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at 1:16

[TT] Hey.  
[TT] Yuo know this is the first time I’ve pestered you.  
[TT] How’s the flight so far? I know you said you’d pester us when you landed but let’s face it, bro, we parted on kind of a sour note.  
[TT] Thought I might giev our broship a little tune-up, see if that does anything to fix the abhorrent noise coiming out of whatever instrument I was planning to liken our relationship to. What would be a good one?  
[TT] Maybe a piano but htat’s pretty fucking pesdestrian, I am too cool for that shit, gotta come up with something alittle crazier than that nam. Maybe like a haprsichord it’s simpilar enough to maintiann a semblance of the ilk that a piano possesses.  
[TT] Anyway like I was saying. We should hash this out like the bros we are. Because not gonna lie I'm a little broken up over you running off like that.  
[TT] Not that it is’nt your prerogative or whatever to get the fuck away from me because hey, i’s your life, and I undersatnd. But I didn’t actually get the feeling that you were distguasted so much as freaked out?  
[TT] And okay maybe that’s not actually any better, but I have to know or it’s gonna eat me up inside. And allso it’s considerate of you to be like “hey bro I’m not into ouy” or “hey bro let’s make out when I finally decide t o get my ass back to the good ole US of A”.  
[TT] And your’e a gentlemena right? Be a gentleman Jake.  
[TT] You know what, what teh fuck ever. I’m gonna go cry on Roxy’s shoulder some nore because you guys know me, Mr. Overdramatic haha le’ts secretly laught about Dirk’s pain behind his back.  
[TT] Like I don’t fuckng notice.  
[TT] Assholes.  
[GT] Jiminy christmas how much did you drink last night strider?  
[GT] I just touched down in istanbul a few minutes ago.  
[GT] Oh. Well then.  
[GT] *Tugs at collar.*  
[GT] Im not sure i feel comfortable responding to your drunken queries.  
[GT] Pester me when youre up?  
[GT] And strider?  
[GT] I am so sorry.

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering  golgothasTerror [GT]

[GT] Strider?

You force-close Pesterchum and chuck your phone across the room. It lands with a dull thud somewhere in the vicinity of your dresser. You stare at the ceiling in horror. What made drunk you think any of that was a good idea to tell Jake? If only you could write a program to purge the words not only from Pesterchum, but from Jake’s memory as well, you might be able to live with yourself. You roll out of bed and stumble to your closet. You’re already late to work, not that you had any intention of going even before you got blackout drunk.

Roxy moans from the bed. “Come back and cuddle with me.”

“My cuddling quota is full to bursting.” Your reply sounds stiff even to your own ears.

She shuffles under the sheets. “What’s wrong?”

You suppress the noise that claws its way up your throat. “Same as last night.”

Before you can stop her, Roxy is across the room with your abused phone cradled in her hands. “Did you talk to Jake?” Her face falls when she investigates Pesterchum. “Oh god.”

“God has little to nothing to do with this, besides maybe laughing his ass off and telling me this is what I get for not believing in him to begin with.” You bang your head against the frame of your closet. “I’m the drunk asshole. It’s me.”

Roxy hugs you from behind, phone still clutched between her fingers. “He wants to talk to you.”

“I don’t trust myself with talking to him.”

“You can’t just ignore him after that.” Roxy forces you to turn around and face her.

You glare down, naked face set into a defiant scowl. “Watch me.”

She sighs and runs her hands up your arms. “I am asking you just this once not to be a Strider-grade asshole.”

With a scoff, you pull out of Roxy’s grip. You start for the bathroom. “I was born this way.”

“That joke was terrible and you know it,” Roxy calls down the hall. She follows you and unfolds herself in the threshold to keep the door open.

“Jake deserves to make an informed decision based on a rounded knowledge of my personality, dickishness included. Now please move, I need to take a piss.” You close yourself into the bathroom when Roxy sighs and steps back. For a while, you lean your forehead against the cool mirror. Your breath fogs the glass and obscures your face, which you figure is just as well because you look like absolute hungover shit, complete with rumpled hair, bloodshot eyes, and a line of dried drool at the corner of your lips that you can’t muster the energy to wipe away. You wish you’d had the presence of mind to snatch your phone from Roxy prior to your retreat. She could very well respond to Jake in your stead, and that fear has you out the door in a matter of seconds.

Your phone sits on your bedside table. A cursory glance at Pesterchum alleviates your suspicions, but Roxy isn’t in your room.

Her muffled voice emanates from behind the door of Jake’s room (the guest room, Jake doesn’t fucking live here). The only words you catch are “you know how he is” and “aw Jakey”.

You stalk into the kitchen and slam the refrigerator door as you pull out another beer. Who gives a fuck if it’s a little before ten in the morning? Not you, that’s who. The shitty beer is at least partially to blame for your sudden need to get trashed before noon, but all you’re after is numbness that a feelings jam could never offer. You crack open your third can as Roxy enters and level her a hard stare as you drink.

She holds the phone out to you, still in an active call. “Jake wants to talk.”

“I don’t care.”

With a roll of her eyes, she puts the device up to her ear. “He’s being a dick. Honestly? He’s drinking again. No, hey, stop that. I’m not going to disagree, but...Jake stop. We’ll talk later, okay? Got me a drunk Strider to wrangle. Yeah. Love you, Jakey.” Roxy grabs your shirt and holds her phone to your head while you give an indignant squawk.

Jake’s voice is thick on the other end even as he pretends to be chipper as usual. “Don’t drink too much on my account, Strider. Wouldn’t want you to have to bunk with Dave in the hospital!” He takes a shaky breath. “I...sure do wish you were here. Talk to you soon.” The barest hint of a hiccup is followed closely by the end of the call.

Roxy catches your hand when you reach for the refrigerator. “Nuh-uh, I draw the line here. Take a shower while I get rid of the rest.”

You grumble, but acquiesce all the same. Steam fills the bathroom as you lean against the wall of the shower, captive to your own disparaging thoughts, Jake’s voice still in your ears. Your blank stare could burn a hole all the way to Bro’s room in the hospital if you let it. You don’t even touch the soap until Roxy bangs on the door and demands that you hurry it up before you waste all the hot water. The idle concern of what she plans to wear if she takes a shower does little to distract you as you finish an abbreviated scrub and step out.

You barely manage to tuck a towel around your waist and open the door before she shoves past you with a, “Geez finally!”

“Do I have to get dressed?” you ask.

“Duh!”

“...nicely?”

“We’re going to the hospital. Just don’t wear something that smells like beer sweat.”

For a moment, you consider the merits of the threadbare pajamas you wore last night, but the drawbacks (namely the possibility that Roxy might forcibly redress you) far outweigh the benefits. You pull on a button-down and slacks. The outfit is sloppy, so you open your tie drawer. On top of your collection is a note taped to a bottle of...something. You recognize Jake’s handwriting.

Strider!

I know perhaps its a bit presumptuous of me to have done this but i simply couldnt help myself. I hope you wont mind that i borrowed your bowtie and that spiffy skeleton tie as well! I just thought that i might take some of the time i spend in istanbul learning how to properly dress myself like you suggested. The next time we meet ill be more dapper than a dancing bear in a suit. Dont snort at me like i know youre doing right now! Youll be absolutely blown away by the suave adult who knows hes sexy in a suit just wait.

Please take this bottle of...hmm. Well its not really *cologne* per se but i suppose i use it as such. Grandma sends me dozens for my birthday every year because they smell like a forest. Not *my* forest but its the thought that counts. Ive been told that memory is most strongly linked to our schnoz so maybe this will help you remember me while im gone! Not that ill let you forget.

Pester me when you get this. Maybe call. To be honest i dont know how long i can go without a roundabout strider insult to brighten my day.

*Double pistols and a wink!*  
Jake English

The label says “Pine Scent Spray” in big red letters, the kind used on real Douglas Fir trees so they smell fresh after weeks in an upper-middle class suburban family’s living room over the holidays. You unscrew the cap and sniff with the same caution you might afford something in the chem lab. Synapses fire as the scent recalls memories of Jake pressed against you in tight hugs and casual cohabitation. You slip the note and the bottle deep into the back of the drawer when Roxy’s footsteps approach and grab the first tie your fingers glance across.

“I’m wearing your clothes today,” she announces before she proceeds to rifle through your closet.

You grunt an acknowledgment as you wrap the tie around your neck and coax it into shape.

Later that night, after Bro tries to cheer you up in the only way he knows how (endless rambling and half-hearted jabs) and Roxy returns home (only after you promise no fewer than seven times that you won’t buy more beer), you pull the bottle out of your drawer and smell the spray like a teenager might huff markers. You place the bottle on your bedside table and close your eyes on it. You can’t actually sleep for the pain that writhes in your gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are at least seven Kroger markets in the Houston metropolitan area. I would scoff, but there are six Wal-Marts within thirty minutes of my house, and I live in a small town.
> 
> Sorry this is a day behind, bluh. [The next episode of "Let My Tell You About Homestuck" is out.](http://letmetellyouabouthomestuck.podbean.com/e/they-sure-have-a-lot-of-nerdy-kids-in-this-thing/) Give it a listen if you like.


	16. a really lovesick puppy dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk and Roxy make a couple insensitive PTSD jokes. Sorry.

**> Dirk: Prepare the guest room.**

The hospital releases Bro the next week, so you make the bed for him after you bring him back to your apartment. His whining is theatrical as he demands from the living room that you wait on him hand and foot. “Dirk, my brother-child-type-thing, how can you leave your poor pseudo-father in such a snackless state? However will I reach the remote from this position?” He goes on for several minutes before he finishes with, “In short: I’m injured you twat, come take care of me.”

You hover at the end of the hall. “I was told you would benefit from a watchful eye, not that you still required a fucking nurse. I have no qualms with dumping your ass back in the hospital, Bro.”

“You’re one stone cold motherfucker.”

“So I’ve been told.” You toss him the remote so he’ll shut up for a few minutes. Bro’s eyes lack the luster Jake’s have whenever he comes within ten feet of a television and that hurts more than you care to admit to him, so you abscond into the kitchen where you can pretend not to have a breakdown. You check your phone just for something to do. It’s filled with Pesterchum notifications, as it has been for the past seven days.

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 11:09

[GT] Evening strider! Or well morning.  
[GT] Just doing a daily check in with my best bro.  
[GT] Aradia took me to the university with her today! Right friendly bunch archaeologists are i tell you. They spoke with aradia in turkish so i didnt catch much. Not that i would have anyway haha.  
[GT] Aradia said shed teach me if i want. Im considering it even though i know i make for a frustrating student.  
[GT] One of the other men involved in the excavation showed me how to tie a windsor knot but im afraid im not very good yet. But ill get there!  
[GT] Anyway i guess you still dont feel like answering. Thats quite all right. I dont think i would answer if i were you either.  
[GT] Call me around this time of day soon though. Ive already had the pleasure of speaking with roxy and jane.  
[GT] I miss your voice.

golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering  timaeusTestified [TT]

Your thumb hovers over the green call button. None of this is Jake’s fault and he doesn’t deserve punishment for your stupidity, but he’s caught in the crossfire between you and yourself. You hope that Roxy and Jane are better friends to him than you manage to be.

“Get me a glass of AJ,” Bro says, ass almost certainly still attached to the couch where you left him.

“Don’t have any.”

The noise he makes conveys how utterly you’ve scandalized him. “Go fucking buy some then, can’t have a proper home without AJ. I have failed as a parent, kid don’t keep no fucking apple juice on his person at all times for just such an emergency as this, damn shame.”

You leave him alone in your apartment for all of half an hour to pick up a couple bottles of the cheapest apple juice you can find.

When you enter the living room with a glass poured, Bro is pressed against the arm of the couch. He wears an expression of absolute disgust, which he directs at the puppet that sits on a shelf above the television. You wonder how long he sat like this before you returned. “Don’t tell me you’ve got more of those creepy fuckers hidden around here somewhere. I will move in with Roxy if that’s the case, goddamn.”

You tell him to go right ahead.

He rips the glass of juice out of your hand and downs it. His eyes don’t leave Li’l Cal until you pick the puppet up and carry him into your own room. Bro doesn’t fully appreciate his presence like you do.

For a while you hide out in there. You haven’t settled back into a daily routine since Jake left, and you don’t have the energy to entertain Bro for more than a few minutes at a time. But there are only so many times you can browse the web before you start to lose your mind, so you slip into your office and pull out the syntax textbook. Maybe your concentration will improve without Jake to distract you.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Feed Bro.**

He squawks like a baby bird stuck in its nest (he is perfectly capable of walking now, he just chooses not to). “I’m starving in here. AJ can only hold me for so long. Take pity, oh cruel fates, and drop a hamburger in my lap.”

You tell him from your office to order in.

“If you know a place that delivers burgers, I will gladly do so.”

“Check the fucking menus.” You reread the last paragraph of the textbook. It’s still a lot of unnecessarily complicated horseshit as far as you’re concerned, but you think you’ll be able to get through it more easily once Bro heads back to Los Angeles.

Forty-five minutes later, Bro yells for you to come eat with him. He joins you in the office when you say no and drops a plastic to-go container in your lap. “We’re gonna have a family dinner and you’re gonna fucking enjoy it.”

You roll your eyes, but follow him back to the couch anyway. The two of you eat in silence, and it’s nice (it reminds you of meals with Jake, and then suddenly it’s not so nice). You make a fair attempt of drowning yourself in the styrofoam cup filled with orange Fanta that accompanies your meal.

Bro clears his throat. “Talked to Jake lately?” He cuts you off before you can respond. “You know what, I don’t know why I actually bothered asking that like you weren’t about to start bullshitting me about how great shit’s going between you, how you’re feeling downright matrimonial...shit that was too literal let me try again.”

While he flounders for a less relevant metaphor, you shove half your remaining sandwich into your mouth as an excuse not to talk.

He throws his hands up. “Fuck it, I can’t handle this polite roundabout bullshit. Jake’s been pestering me all goddamn day asking how you’re doing because Roxy told him I’m here and he can’t sleep. He’s on his hands and knees here dude, and not in a sexy way either, he is straight up prostrating himself in a desperate vie for your attention and you’re just sneering down and toeing his body like a lump of garbage in your throne room and it’s pretty shitty of you. I get that I raised an emotionally constipated kid, but goddamn, show a little respect for the dude you risked pretty much everything to have a chance with.” Bro runs a hand through his hair. Breath whistles out between his lips. “He’s like a puppy dog. A really lovesick puppy dog.”

“Maybe you haven’t heard the story, but he’s the one who ran off, not me.”

Bro scoffs. “He immediately started begging for forgiveness. Of all the guys you’ve introduced to me, he’s the only one I can stand. I think that should speak for itself.”

“You only ever met Cronus, it’s not really a contest.”

A ping from Bro’s phone interrupts the argument. He checks the notification and flings his iPhone across the room. “That’s it, I give up! I’m not playing the intermediary anymore. Call your fucking not-boyfriend, I’m going to bed.” He storms out of the room. The door of the guest bedroom slams a moment later. You’re not sure if his tantrum is genuine, or if he put on a show to fuck with you. The shattered phone on the floor near the kitchen suggests the former. You pick it up, and against your better judgment, open Pesterchum.

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 1:02

[GT] How are you this fine evening dave?  
[TG] its early afternoon here bro  
[GT] Right i keep forgetting. Anyway!  
[GT] A little birdie told me that you were released from the hospital this morning. I would send you a card or somesuch but i dont believe i could afford the shipping.  
[GT] Are you heading home?  
[TG] yes dirk is alive  
[TG] yes dirk is still sulking but whats fuckin new  
[TG] to my knowledge he hasnt taken up drinking like the town wino again  
[TG] anything else  
[GT] *Flushes.* I dont believe i asked a single one of the imaginary questions you just answered!  
[TG] oh my god you just unironically responded with rp speak and the thing you chose to convey your reaction  
[TG] was to fuckin blush  
[GT] It says flush! Those are two completely different things!  
[TG] so are you jonesing for my baby bro or what  
[TG] if so i gotta work up the dadbro intimidation speech  
[TG] JAKE ENGLISH  
[TG] IF YOU SO MUCH AS TOUCH A HAIR ON MY PRECIOUS LIL MUFFINS HEAD ILL  
[TG] pff no i cant do this  
[TG] yo  
[TG] you still there

golgothasTerror [GT] is now an idle chum!

[TG] yeah ok whatever

The idea that this might be a private conversation crosses your mind (but only briefly) as you read.

[GT] Whats he doing right now?  
[TG] oh now you answer  
[TG] i dunno dude he fucked off with one of his goddamn puppets and then disappeared into his office  
[TG] havent heard a peep out of him since  
[TG] although to be honest id be pretty concerned if he started peeping all of a sudden  
[TG] have to get my mother hen on, cock-a-doodle-doo  
[TG] wait shit thats a rooster  
[GT] Why wont he answer me?  
[TG] im just his bro jake  
[TG] cant really crawl inside his head to find all the answers  
[TG] but if you want my opinion i think either a) hes embarrassed or b) he thinks you hate him  
[GT] Why in blazes would i hate him?  
[TG] hes a weird dude  
[GT] Well he comes by it honestly!  
[TG] harsh  
[TG] why are you even pestering me dont you have to be up at fuckall o’clock  
[GT] I cant sleep. I just keep worrying that ive really pushed him away like the absolute toss i am.  
[GT] I have havent i?  
[TG] takes two to tango  
[GT] I shouldnt have left. I dont know why i didnt realize how much it hurt him before.  
[TG] dirk isnt good at talking about his feelings  
[TG] speaking of feelings  
[TG] still raring to go on that dadbro speech

golgothasTerror [GT] is now an idle chum!

[TG] is that a yes

Jake’s most recent message lingers unanswered at the bottom of the cracked screen.

[GT] Honestly dave?  
[GT] I dont know.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Don’t think about Jake.**

You don’t leave your office for more than a few hours a day after you read Jake's messages. You scribble notes about sentence mapping and tap away at your keyboard as you consider how best to convert the concept into code. The clock in the bottom-left hand corner of the screen says it's a little after three in the morning.

Bro snores in the guest room (Jake snores too, but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about him tonight). He no longer brings up his conversations with Jake, not since you spilled half a cup of steaming hot coffee in your lap at the mere mention of him on Thursday. You took Bro to replace his iPhone after that so he wouldn’t rely on you for conversation anymore. You suspect he and Jake have had a long talk about you by now. Maybe several, if the number of times you've walked in on Bro’s furious typing is anything to go by.

But you aren’t thinking about Jake.

You even put his cologne back in the drawer on Sunday (never mind that you haven't slept in the fifty-six hours since then).

Fuck it, you can’t _stop_ thinking about Jake. He didn’t pester you this morning, and worry devours your concentration. You flip between Visual Studio and Pesterchum, restless with the hope that Jake will pester you in a downright tizzy, apologize for his lapse in memory, and confess his (possible) hankering for your man meat.

You don’t even care anymore whether he does or will ever want to fuck you.

You just want him to wrap you up in his arms and never let go.

With a sigh, you push back from your desk and resign yourself to your room. You retrieve the cologne from your tie drawer and spritz the tiniest bit on your pillow before you drop face-first into bed. Your first breath is nothing but pine (the irony does not escape you). You fall into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Work yourself to death.**

Bro returns to Los Angeles on Saturday morning. Roxy escorts him to the airport—“Don’t want you to start having flashbacks on me!” she says, as if your entire apartment isn’t an emotional war zone—in your stead. Bro doesn’t even crack a joke about what a shitty kidbro you turned out to be, and you’re both thankful for and resentful of his consideration.

You go back to work the following Monday (you’re almost out of paid vacation for the year, and the girls insist you leave time off for holiday festivities). Your prototype glasses are as messy as ever. You find peace in the process of test, fail, repeat. The empty space beside you shrinks the longer you focus on the tiny tools in your fingers, a tweezer here, screwdriver there, and always with the soldering gun.

Your coworkers are brazen in their interest (“concern” as Roxy calls it). Men and women you’ve hardly spoken to in the years you’ve worked for SBURB approach your desk and ask how you’re doing, if your brother is out of the hospital, whether you and the bodyguard who hung over your shoulder like the ends of a scarf are still in contact. The only pleasure you derive from their nosiness is in the way their hands shake as they open their mouths to speak. In the way their voices falter at your curt replies. They whisper the results of their forays into Striderdom amongst themselves as though their words don’t carry through the entire room.

Minutes before your shift ends, you close your eyes and replace your shades with the glasses. The darkness behind your eyelids flickers, then is overtaken by a fuzzy image of the room around you. You turn your head from side to side. There’s a noticeable delay, but the fact of the matter is that the concept is valid. You start on your trial report as your colleagues pack up to go home. A hand taps your shoulder ten minutes later. You turn to deflect more unwanted inquiries, but it’s Roxy. You don’t realize your shoulders were tensed until they drop.

“Day’s over, Dirky.”

“I’m gonna finish this up before I go.”

Roxy leans her weight into one leg and crosses her arms. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

You avert your eyes.

Hers bore into you when you continue to work on the report. She doesn’t leave your side.

“Rox.”

“What?” she asks. The tone of her voice is defiant.

“Go home.”

“Not until you do.” Roxy wraps her fingers around the top of your pencil. She growls when you don’t let go. “You should relax.”

You huff a sardonic laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. My place is a veritable minefield of magnificent memories.”

“Then stay with me.”

You wrench the pen away from her. “I’ll be fine, just let me fucking work, goddamn.”

When Roxy whimpers, you regret your tone. “Right. Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

You’re unable to bring yourself to words out of fear that you’ll make matters worse, so you nod and watch her leave.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Make amends.**

The next day, you carry your lunch into Roxy’s office uninvited and drop into one of the chairs on the opposite side of her desk. “Hey.” You slide her a chicken salad sandwich, pink lemonade, and a pack of Starburst. “Sorry about yesterday.”

Roxy ignores the sandwich and goes straight for the candy. “Good,” she says as she pops a piece of taffy into her mouth. “You were a dick.”

“You say that like it comes as as surprise.” You drink your Mountain Dew. “So do you want to hang out on Saturday? Get lunch, go to the arcade, get dinner, go dancing? Has Club Derse lifted your ban yet?”

She snorts, and it’s the best sound you’ve heard in three weeks. “Yeah, the manager called and apologized when she found out Caliborn was arrested. She said he was a shady motherfucker from the start and that she should have known better than to hire him in the first place.” Roxy makes a face when her teeth are suctioned together. They pull apart with a wet smack. “But I can’t go out with you this week.”

You raise your eyebrows as your heart does a sickening loop-de-loop. “Why not? I will pay for everything if this is about yesterday, hell I’ll—”

Roxy waves her hand. “Stop worrying so much.” She reaches over the desk and knocks on your skull. “Lunk. Callie already asked me to hang out with her on Saturday. And no,” she says, “I’m not gonna cancel, even if you are my bffsy and clearly rank higher on my list of people to hang out with. This is a friendship in progress, gotta be on my best behavior.”

The Doritos taste like corn mush on your tongue, and you wonder if you somehow chose the bag that missed the seasoning step altogether. It’s going to be a long fucking weekend.

With a bite of chicken salad sandwich in her mouth, Roxy says, “Ask Janey. She’s starting to think she fucked up when she yelled at you about the Caliborn thing.”

“Shit.” In all the drama that surrounded Jake’s departure, your fight had slipped your mind entirely.

“Yeah, shit. You guys don’t hang out enough anyway.” Roxy finally gets around to chewing her food. “Have fun for me, ‘kay?”

You take a bite of your own sandwich in lieu of a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine that older!Dave is more mature about feelings and actually tries to talk about them, more like post-retcon Dave. Thus his characterization up to now.
> 
> PSA: The beginning of the end is here (for Homestuck, not _Electronic Skin_ ). Hussie posted an upd8. Just so you all know. Cry with me.


	17. i'm no good at this feelings-y shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I fucking live.](http://www.hermannpark.org/visit/interactive-map/)

**> Dirk: Pick up Jane.**

You pull up outside her apartment building, which is far more modest than your own (her salary is lower than your pay, despite her management position). You honk and she startles from where she smokes a cigarette on a bench. “Morning.”

Jane climbs into the truck beside you. She offers a smile. “Good morning, Dirk. What's the plan?”

You shrug. “Up to you.”

She smacks your shoulder (you miss Jake’s friendly punch). “You never do anything without a plan.”

“And today I plan to bow to your every whim,” you say. “Are you hungry?”

“Just ate.” Jane looks over her shoulder when a car behind you honks. “You should probably get out of the middle of the road.”

You shift the car into drive and circle Jane’s building. “Still waiting on directions here, Crocker.”

Jane huffs. “You know I don’t like being put on the spot like this!” Your only response is a raised eyebrow, and she frowns. “Let’s go to the park you like so much. I haven’t ever seen it in autumn.”

“Yeah.” Your heart skips like a stone across a pond before it stutters and sinks deep down your chest cavity, where it settles into the bed with a little puff of silt (you never got to take Jake to the garden). “All right.”

Of course Jane picks up on your hesitation. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

“No. It’s...fine.” You flip your turn signal and escape the neverending loop around the block. “Mind if I grab something to eat first though? I kinda thought we would have brunch.”

“I haven’t been to the cafe by the lake in a while. I’ll have a glass of wine with you.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Have an awkward silence.**

Jane sips her dark merlot while you dip a falafel ball in tzatziki sauce. She looks out over the lake, where waves lap against the shore, and adjusts her red-framed glasses on her nose. She shifts in her seat. Wind ruffles her hair as her eyes slide over to you and the tiniest hint of a frown pulls at the corner of her lips.

You bite into your lunch. Behind your shades, you meet her gaze. “What.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” You scoff when she insists, but continue to chew your falafel. The little cafe is quiet this early in the day. Families chatter around you, laugh and share food. Across the patio, a young man falls to one knee beside his table and holds up a box. You avert your eyes as the other patrons erupt into applause when his girlfriend (you assume) accepts his proposal.

Jane continues to stare at you.

“I’m not proposing to you, Crocker.”

“How about apologizing?”

Your shoulders hunch around your ears of their own accord. “Oh.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a deep drink of her wine. “I thought that’s why you invited me out for the day.”

“I invited you out for the day because Roxy’s hanging out with Calliope. I told you that.” You wish you had ordered a glass of wine or a beer. But given your recent history, you don’t think Jane will let you. All you want from today is to shower your sister with so much affection that she forgets about your transgressions and the two of you can move on with your lives. You stuff an entire falafel ball in your mouth at once. You chew slowly while Jane fixes you with an unimpressed look. She doesn’t look away even after you swallow, so you sigh and rest your cheek on your fist. “You’re going to make me say it out loud, aren’t you?”

“I’m not going to _make_ you do anything. But I did expect that you would have common courtesy, yes.”

You snort. “Have you met the guy that raised me? Common courtesy was never welcome under our roof. Bro and common courtesy had a falling out years ago. It's a tragedy that they never reconciled, but an unfortunate fact of life.”

Jane’s eye roll would put Bro to shame. She scoots her seat out and stands. “I think you should just take me back home.”

“Goddammit Jane.” You gesture at nothing in particular, exasperation in your voice. “What do you think all this is? I’m no good at this feelings-y shit, but I’m fucking trying, okay?” You rise to your feet and point to the trees deeper in the park. “Let’s go for a walk before you decide to go.”

“Fine.” Jane leads you down the walking trail. Several minutes pass in silence. The two of you are met with smiles from young couples, single joggers, and small families alike. Jane doesn’t come to a stop until you’re in a secluded grove. She perches on the edge of the bench and motions for you to join her.

You drop into the seat. A wince tenses across your skin when your tailbone hits the wood in all the wrong ways. You hiss. The stillness stretches on between you and Jane as you avoid her eyes and take in the greenery around you (so much like the color of Jake’s eyes, wait fuck).

“Jake said you never brought him here.”

You groan. “Sure didn’t.”

“He misses you.”

“Hmm.” You begin to stand, but Jane stays you with a hand on your wrist. “Can we not do this? I’ve gotten the ‘stop being an asshole’ talk from Roxy and Bro already, I got the message the first time.” You relax into the bench.

Jane rests her hand over yours and fixes her gaze somewhere in the trees. “Do you know what happened when Roxy distracted you with the cake?”

“Bro decided he was going to be our four-way wedding officiant?”

“I took Jake to the waiting room and told him I had feelings for him.”

“Hmm.”

“There’s a reason I’m telling you this.” Jane plays with the end of her skirt as she talks. “Guess how he responded? I’ll give you a hint: he didn’t panic and run away.” The wind picks up strands of Jane’s hair and flutters them around her face. “He sighed like a world-weary waitress and told me—very calmly, might I add—that he didn’t feel the same. It was like he’d given the same little speech a hundred times over. Then he hugged me and begged me not to hate him. I had to drag him back to Dave's room so he could get him to stop blubbering. That’s why it took so long for me to call Roxy back.”

“I read his messages to Bro,” you say. You ignore Jane’s irritated noise at the interruption.

She waits for you to continue and sighs when you don't. "What about them?"

Your hands become very interesting all of a sudden. "They talked a lot while Bro stayed with me. I think." You take your time, breathe in and out until you don't need to count the seconds to know that each inhalation is equal to each exhalation. "I only saw their first conversation. Bro asked Jake if he was quote unquote 'jonesing' for me."

Jane raises her eyebrows without a word.

"Jake didn't know." Anywhere would be better than right here, right now. “It doesn’t matter how he feels though.” You hop off the bench and continue down the path. “He already left and I’ve already ignored him for three weeks. He stopped pestering me last week. He doesn’t care anymore.”

Jane’s footsteps pound behind you, three slaps against the ground for every stride you take. “You are the densest person I have ever met.” She grabs your shoulder and throws you around to face her. “If you know that he’s confused right now, why would you make it that much harder for him?”

You laugh in her face. “Because it’s not my fucking job to figure it out for him!” You wrench your arm out of her grip, but make no move to walk away. “We’re both grown-ass men, we’ll get over it. It’s going to take time, but we’ll live."

“Jake looked into getting a ticket back to Houston almost the moment he got to Turkey. He couldn’t afford the trip, and he wouldn’t accept money from me or Roxy. I think Dave even offered to pay for it. He’s only staying until he can afford to fly back.”

“Tell him not to give up on his amazing new job for my sake.”

“Tell him yourself! It’s the least you can do if you plan to abandon your friendship over a silly crush.”

A frown turns your lips. “I’m ready to go home now.” You stumble over your own feet when Jane pulls you along the path by your forearm, away from the direction of your apartment.

“I think this is just the beginning of a lovely day.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Have a lovely day.**

Nothing could be more torturous than Jane’s incessant prods into your reasoning, as if your failure to be a decent human being is any of her business at all. She drags you all across the park, and your feet are in horrible pain by the time she comes to a halt in the picnic area beside the lake, just north of where you had brunch a few hours earlier. You want to jump into the cool water and swim until your body gives out as Jane relays Jake’s most recent message. “He’s staring at the ceiling and wondering if he can even fix your friendship.”

“He didn’t break it.”

Jane leans her elbows on the picnic table where you sit and types. “He doesn’t believe that.” She offers you her phone. “Why don’t you talk to him for a while? I can only be a shoulder to cry on for so long before I need a drink. I’ll be back.”

Discomfort prickles your neck as you look again at a private conversation and consider whether you should intrude on Jake’s privacy. Jane _did_ give you her phone knowing full well that your own is in your pocket. It can’t hurt to pretend to be her for a few minutes.

[GG] You didn’t break it.  
[GT] Poppycock. Im the only one who couldve.  
[GG] Dirk’s been doing a damn good job.  
[GT] Its my fault though. If i hadnt run off he wouldnt think i hated him.  
[GG] I don’t think that’s why he’s ignoring you, Jake.  
[GT] Well whats your theory then if youre so smart?  
[GG] He’s punishing himself for freaking you out.  
[GT] What?  
[GT] Jane is he with you right now?  
[GG] Yeah, he’s sitting across from me in the park. But he isn’t reading my phone, if that’s what you’re asking.  
[GT] You said you were at home though.  
[GT] …  
[GT] Strider?

gutsyGumshoe [GG] ceased pestering  golgothasTerror [GT]

You realize too late that you should have read more of the conversation before you dove in and log out in a panic. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you know exactly who it is before you pull it out to check.

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 2:41

[GT] Please stop punishing yourself you dolt.  
[GT] Im sorry that i stopped pestering you but i couldnt keep trying just for you to ignore me. Im not mad i just want to hear your voice again.

Jake’s contact picture fills your phone screen as he calls. You press ignore.

[GT] Please answer me.  
[GT] You dont even have to talk just let me listen to you breathe ill do all the talking just *answer* for chrissakes.

Your phone vibrates again. You hesitate, but decide moments before the call goes to voicemail to hit “answer” and hold the phone up to your ear.

Heavy breathing greets you from the other end. Jake’s trepid voice follows after several seconds. “Strider?” He sighs when you don’t answer. “I’m glad I got a hold of you.”

The waves on the lake crash louder against the beach as the wind picks up. You wonder how much longer Jane will be.

“Whatever it is you think you’ve done, please forget about it. I can’t keep fretting over this. I visited our medic yesterday because I’ve been having heart pains.” Jake chuckles, but the sound is dry. “She laughed at me and patted my shoulder like I was a young boy when I told her about you. Said there’s nothing wrong with me, that the pains will go away eventually. I’m a bit afraid that I’ll keel over from a heart attack!”

You let silence stretch between you, just listen to Jake breathe into your ear. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that you don’t have to talk, content with each other’s mere presence.

Jane returns with two small bottles of wine. She sets one down in front of you and tilts her head in question.

Rather than answer, you crack the seal on the bottle and take a drink.

Jake hums. “It’s rather late here, so I think I’ll have to leave you to it. We should talk for real soon.” He pauses for so long that you check to see if he’s hung up. You barely catch his last words as you return the phone to your ear. “You have no idea how much I miss you.” The line goes silent.

Jane lets you finish your wine in peace (not that it takes you too long) before she reaches a hand across the table. She squeezes your fingers when you take it and offers a soft smile. The two of you sit like this for some time until an old couple whispers loudly about how touching it is to see young love. Jane giggles as you crack a grin. “So how’d it go?”

“He’s having heart pains. It’s so cliche that I want to give him a gold star for adhering to every Harlequin romance cliche ever conceived.” You pull away from Jane and cradle your head in your hands. “Fuck, I really failed him.”

“You only fail if you stop trying.”

You lay your face down against the picnic table. “Trying is hard. Life would be easier if I could invent my way out of this feelings bullshit.”

“I guess that’s the limitation of our fleshy prisons.”

“Fuck it, I’m transferring my consciousness into a robotic shell.” You look up at Jane over the top of your arm. “Want me to make you one?”

She shrugs. “I’ll think about it. Think it’s about time to turn in for the day?”

You jump to your feet. “Hell no, you’ve spent the whole time dealing feelings jams to my whiny ass all day, you deserve to have actual fun that not even I can ruin.”

“According to you, there’s nothing you can’t ruin. But if you insist, we could invite Roxy out to Club Derse to celebrate her readmittance. Calliope too, if they’re still together.” Jane hits Roxy’s speed dial and waits for an answer. She frowns, so you assume the call has gone to voicemail. She pesters her next, and several minutes later receives an answer. Her eyebrows raise over the rims of her glasses. “She can’t. They went to Galveston.”

“Isn’t this the first time they’ve gone out together? I may be wrong, but that usually implies a coffee date.” The lightbulb above your head is almost audible as it shatters from the sheer force of your realization. “Holy shit, is Roxy on a date with Calliope?”

Jane chokes a bit on her sip of wine. “I don’t think so? As far as I know she’s straight?”

“Yeah.” You tip your head back and scrutinize the sky. “I thought so too. Figured being the resident purveyor of hot real life yaois would be a pretty good indicator that none of us give a fuck. Maybe she doesn’t know it’s a date? Did Calliope ask her to hang out or…?”

“I’m fairly certain Roxy did the planning.” Jane shifts in her seat. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions, regardless. Still want to go to Club Derse?”

You shrug. “Sure. Let’s paint the place red. I could use more to drink.”

“About that.” Jane gestures pointedly from your empty wine bottle back to you. “Roxy says you’re not allowed to binge drink anymore. And don’t even try to tell me she’s overreacting.”

Your eyes roll back into your head. “I think I’m allowed a minor crisis every once in a while.”

“Eight beers in one night is a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“The alcohol content of those beers was negligible.”

Jane crosses her arms. “Dirk.”

Tension builds between you until you give up and rub your face. “Whatever, I won’t drink any more tonight. Happy? Let’s fucking go.” You walk together to the nearest road and call a taxi. You can’t remember the last time you went to Club Derse without Roxy at your side. It could very well have been never. As a courtesy, you pay for Jane and put her shots on your card.

She drags you out to the dance floor among the ever-present mass of sweaty bodies. Her hands grip your shoulders and force you to sway along to the music (Jake wanted you to enjoy yourself, why hadn’t you listened?). She hugs you when a slower song plays over the still-terrible loudspeakers. Your shirt becomes mysteriously damp, and when she pulls away, tears streak her face. She says something, but you can’t hear her over the din.

You lean down and shout into her ear. “What?”

“I just love you so much, Dirk. Roxy does too.”

A frown crosses your lips. You draw Jane out of the crowd and out back, where patrons puff on cigarettes. “Are you okay?”

Jane ignores you as she lights a cigarette of her own. She blows out several breaths of smoke before she’s calmed down enough to answer. “I wish you would let yourself be happy.”

“Oh.” You smoke when Jane offers you her cigarette and lean against the wall beside her. The brick digs into your bare shoulders. "I can't promise anything, but if it'll make you and Roxy feel better, I can try." You take a final drag before you hand the cigarette back. The smoke burns your lungs (you deserve it).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit am I ever sorry about the wait. This chapter was really hard to write, partially because of school, but also because I'm having to rethink the plot I originally intended to follow due to Dirk and Jake reacting in ways I should have expected but did not. It's a classic case of the character telling me "no wait, that's not what I would do" and forcing me to revise my plans. This isn't to say that I suddenly have no road map, just that my GPS tried to drive me through a closed road so I need to find an alternate route.
> 
> I really hope you guys liked this chapter more than I did.


	18. mood successfully tanked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Lovely cover](http://vvvvvvyeah.tumblr.com/post/142738804496/i-got-bored-and-made-fake-novel-covers-for-my) for this fic and [_Hopeless and Heartless_ by LateNiteSlacker](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1026527) (which I have read and recommend if you somehow missed it) by vvvvvvyeah.

**> Dirk: Talk to Jake.**

You still don’t initiate contact, but you do make an effort to respond to his messages. Sometimes. You read them whenever you take a break from your A.I. He’s especially chipper today, and you wish you could be there to see his smile.

[GT] We discovered an old jar in perfect condition. It took two hours to dig out intact but we got it! Aradia says that it could be a relic from the time of alexander the great. Isnt that fascinating?  
[TT] You should rub the jar and see if you summon the trapped spirit of an ancient bisexual warlord. Get your three wishes off him.  
[GT] Its a jar not a lamp strider.  
[TT] Minor details.  
[TT] What’s your first wish, o great master of the jar?  
[GT] I wish you were here.

Your fingers still on the keyboard. You and Jake have yet to discuss whatever mutual feelings you may or may not have for each other. Of course, as far as Jake knows, you never saw his conversation with Bro and therefore have no idea that he might think of you as anything but his best bro.

[TT] I am already here. Next.  
[GT] *Pouts.*  
[GT] *In a manly fashion!*  
[GT] I wish dirk strider would stop being a disingenuous prick!  
[TT] Even I, Alexander the Great, genie of the jar, cannot fulfill this wish. To change such a vital component of his personality would cause his very existence to collapse in on itself into a singularity so powerful it would swallow up the whole of the Houston metropolitan area.  
[TT] Last wish?  
[GT] I think I’ll just hold onto it!  
[TT] Suit yourself. Give me a rub if you wanna cash in.  
[GT] I do believe that was a poorly disguised euphemism.  
[TT] What do you take me for, some kind of lecher?  
[TT] I would never suggest anything so crude.  
[GT] Youre ridiculous strider.  
[TT] Guilty.  
[GT] I think ill turn in for the night. Can i call you tomorrow?  
[TT] Yeah.  
[GT] And have an actual conversation?  
[TT] Sure.  
[GT] Youre being dodgy.  
[TT] When am I ever not?  
[GT] *Sighs.* Fair enough. Goodnight.  
[TT] Morning.

golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering  timaeusTestified [TT]

You return your full attention to the A.I., which in the past couple weeks has shaped up into a rudimentary chatterbot. It still speaks from predesignated sentence formulas, but once you finish the skeleton of its programming, you’ll begin the arduous process of increasing its vocabulary. The chassis remains ignored for the time being. Quite frankly, you don’t want to place an unfinished A.I. into a body and subsequently give birth to a robot uprising. The event would be infinitely cool, but perhaps not the best reason for your name to appear in the history books.

The alarm on your phone sounds and you push back from your work. Roxy will show up any minute for your annual costume shopping trip. If it were up to you, you would wear the shiny fire-print cape that Bro sent you for your twentieth birthday and call yourself a flaming homosexual, but Roxy insists on coordinated costumes for you, herself, and Jane. You duck into the bathroom and brush your fingers through your hair before you head downstairs to wait for Roxy’s pink convertible (she tried to convince Jane to ride behind you on the motorcycle, but thankfully Jane has more sense than to tell her yes).

She pulls up a few minutes later and honks. “Get in loser, we’re going shopping!” Jane sits in the backseat, while Calliope fills your usual place of shotgun.

Your heart twists at how easily Roxy adopted Calliope to fill Jake’s place as the fourth member of your family (she's doing no such thing, but he idea hurts nonetheless). You hop over the door and settle yourself in the back. You keep your wounded thoughts to yourself. Jane simply shrugs when you jerk your thumb at Calliope and raise your shoulders in question.

Roxy either ignores your exchange or doesn't notice it to begin with as she throws the car into drive. From the wide grin on her matte black lips, you suspect the latter. “Janey and I were just talking about this year’s theme. I still think Callie should pick, but she's being Miss Zuipperpips, so skeletons or pirates?”

“Rox, have you been drinking?”

Calliope raises her eyebrows and wears an expression of alarm at the mere suggestion. Her shoulders relax (but not much) when Roxy makes a scandalized noise. Calliope runs a hand through her pale blonde hair and stares over the door at your building.

“Let’s buy rubber horse masks and switch clothes,” you say. It's your job to be contrary every year.

Roxy erupts into laughter as you meet Calliope’s eyes in the rearview mirror. You wonder whether she wants to be here at all. “Damn Dirk, back at it again with the horse masks," Roxy says when she gathers her breath.

“I am completely serious.” As with every year, you aren’t serious at all (not that you would complain if Roxy gave in to your suggestion).

“You would be.” Roxy throws her hands up, much to Jane’s and Calliope’s terror. And yours, if to a marginally lesser extent. “C’mon, what’s wrong with skeletons and pirates?

“They’re so pedestrian. We can do better.”

Roxy complains about your refusal to weigh in on her and Jane’s options for the rest of the short drive to the Halloween Express. The holiday is a week and change out yet, but Roxy still has to clear a path through the crowd for the rest of you like a more vagina’d Moses. She rifles through the plastic-covered costumes on the rack. “None of these will match anything we can get for Dirk.” She pulls out a nurse costume that elicits more of a reaction from Calliope than it does from you. “Unless you wanna wear one of these too?”

You raise an eyebrow. “First, I thought the options were skeletons or pirates. Second, I was under the impression that we got past the ‘Dirk wants the D so therefore he must like to crossdress’ stage years ago.” You motion at the red and white costume. The skirt wouldn’t fall far past your hips, and looks clingy as fuck to boot. Bro wore something similar to a celebrity Halloween party early in his career, back before he knew better than to fuck with the paparazzi. “That shit ain’t comfortable.”

Roxy blows a raspberry as she hangs the skimpy outfit back up. “It’s not supposed to be _comfortable_ , it’s supposed to be sexy.”

You’re vaguely concerned by Roxy’s continued insistence that you would be hot in a dress.

On your other side, Jane coughs. “Not all of us are as comfortable with being mostly naked in public as you are, you know.”

“I’m afraid that I’ll have to agree with Miss Crocker,” says Calliope. She tugs on the sleeves of her green blazer as she stares down at her left foot, which she grinds into the thin carpet.

Shiny fabric catches your eye from a wire basket in the middle of an aisle. You shove your way over and brandish a baggy pair of silver gloves. “How about robots? We could all be kickass robots.”

Roxy snatches the gloves from your hands and scrutinizes them under the harsh fluorescent light. “I could work with this. Yo Callie, whatchu think?”

Calliope folds in on herself. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know that I feel comfortable with contributing to your group costume. I appreciate that you invited me to spend time with your friends, but this is clearly your tradition with one another.”

The expression on Roxy’s face falls from its sunny smile. “I thought you loved Halloween? And costumes!”

“I never said I didn’t?”

“Hey ignore Roxy, she gets excited about her ideas and forgets that not everyone might like them.” You pat Calliope on the shoulder, but regret it as soon as her muscles tense beneath your fingers. “You’re more than welcome to olly the fuck out of this hot mess. I'll spring for a cab. Not,” you add when Roxy shoots you a glare, “that I'm saying you should leave. I just get that we can be a little...overwhelming.”

(Jake was never overwhelmed, he fit like a glove.)

Calliope’s discomfort melts away as you speak. “I don't mind accompanying you today. But thank you.”

You and the girls scavenge for tubes of face paint in black, silver, and red, along with colored hairspray, a set of geometric stencils, and plain black morphsuits. If Roxy lets you have your way with the costumes, you’ll be a trio of sci-fi androids. You gather enough supplies for Calliope at Roxy’s urging—”She might change her mind!”—and purchase them at the front of the store. You spend the rest of the day out with the girls and pick up the tab on two meals along the way. Between nearly two months of supporting Jake and your continual monetary apologies to the girls, you’re going to go broke.

Roxy’s smile grows as Calliope gradually loosens up. By the end of the day, she beams every time Calliope so much as opens her mouth.

You share a glance with Jane, but say nothing.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Have an actual conversation.**

Your stomach twists like a nest of snakes the next morning as you down your third cup of coffee. The time rapidly approaches evening in Turkey, and you twirl the remote between your fingers. Netflix fills the screen of the television in front of your perch on the couch. The pillow you clutch to your chest most definitely isn't the one you doused in Jake’s cologne. You flip through the selection of horror movies, some of which you add to your playlist (but only the ones with fewer than three stars). One film catches your eye and you pause with it highlighted on your screen. It had been so easy to ask Jake on a bro date under the guise of escape from this movie. You wish it was as easy to ask Jake on a real date, or to bring up feelings at all, for that matter.

Buzzing interrupts your thoughts and you reach over the coffee table for your phone. You’re tempted with the prospect of ignoring Jake yet again, but answer the call. “Yo.”

On the other end, Jake squeaks and breathes out. “Howdy.” The relief in his voice causes an unpleasant prickle in the back of your throat.

You snort. “Next thing I know you’ll start calling me pardner.” Your nonchalance couldn't sound more forced if you tried.

“I’m so happy to hear your voice again, Strider.” You swear he sniffles before he clears his throat. “So uh, Roxy said you went costume shopping yesterday. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Yeah,” you say. You wish he didn’t sound so sad. “We always do a group costume for Halloween. Since college. If you want to join us, we’re dressing up as robots this year. You can send us pictures. Or video chat. Whichever.” You run your fingers through your mussed morning hair. “What’d you do today?”

“Oh, the usual. If I weren’t interested in archaeology, I fear I would be frightfully bored with this job. There’s nary sight nor sound of danger!” Jake chuckles as you bask in private satisfaction at the knowledge that his new gig isn't all he expected. “Aradia is fair company, but she has nothing on you. Why, she hasn’t even invited me on an ironic dinner date yet!”

Sometimes you wonder how Jake functions in polite society. “That’s a fucking tragedy right there.”

“Damn right it is! These snooty academic types wouldn’t know fun if it slapped them in the face. I haven’t seen a movie since my flight in.”

You make a mental note to send him a care package that consists of bargain bin DVDs and a portable player. “What was it?”

“ _Deadpool_! The film is riveting, if I do say so myself.” Jake makes an affronted noise when you snort. “Go see it for yourself before you pass judgment, you prick. _Deadpool_ is a fantastic addition to cinema that will set precedents for superhero films for years to come!”

“Isn’t Deadpool the Spider-Man wannabe?” You know exactly who Deadpool is, how could you not with the hype around the movie (not to mention Ryan talking about the project at Bro's lavish Hollywood parties for almost a decade), but Jake's indignation is all the encouragement you need to feign ignorance.

“I’ve just decided that I’m sending you _Deadpool_ comics for your birthday so you never say such a thing to me again.”

The banter comes to you as easily as it did before everything went sour. “What, are you gonna pull me down into your lap and read them to me?” An icy chill slides down your spine when you register what you just said.

Jake is silent on his end.

You bang your forehead against the arm of the couch. “Fucking...forget I said that.”

“Strider.” Jake’s gulp is audible. “I think we should talk.”

“We are talking, bro.” Panic overrides your basic ability to shut the fuck up. “Words have been exchanged, getting our conversation on like no other, a dialogue has been struck between us, just a friendly round of back-and-forth.”

“Please be serious right now. I want to know you're listening. _Really_ listening.”

Your throat goes dry. You can’t find it in yourself to answer, and Jake takes your lack of response as an invitation to continue.

He breathes out loudly and whistles. “Well, mood successfully tanked, eh chum?” His giggle betrays his nervousness. “You know, generally when I travel I live alone.” You hold your tongue against his inartful segue. “Usually in a tent at that! I imagine I would have made more friends along the way if I’d had the audacity to request lodgings in people’s homes. Suffice to say, living with you in Houston was an...unusual experience. But by no means a poor one!” Jake shifts, and you wonder whether he’s in bed right now. You don’t even know if he’s living out of a tent or a hotel or a community home for the expedition. “If we’d met under different circumstances, I doubt I would have bothered getting to know you at all. I’m a bit lazy about socializing. Jungle boy habits, you know.” You imagine the way he might chew his lip were he in front of you right now.

“Today, Jake.”

He coughs. “Right. Well. I guess I don’t want to talk about this anymore than you do!” He heaves a weary sigh before he continues. “Everyone’s been hounding me to do it though.”

Your heart beats so hard you’re afraid it will crack your ribs. “Is this another one of those things I get to find out last?”

“Didn’t seem quite right to talk it out with you, seeing how heavily you're involved. Exclusively, in fact! Please don’t be upset with me, I don’t think I could handle another round of that cold Strider shoulder.” Jake tries to laugh, but it comes out as something closer to a strangled whine. “I...value the relationship we’ve developed. Very much! Much more than I’ve cared about anyone else, except maybe my grandma, but I do believe she’s a special case, having raised me from a lad and all. Obviously you value our relationship as well, all things considered.” The air from Texas to Turkey solidifies into a solid wall of awkwardness so impenetrable that reporters over half the globe suddenly flub their lines on-air while they deliver the news of an international awkwardness epidemic. “I wouldn’t trade all the adventure in the world for you, and let me just say, that is an awful lot of adventure! I would even give up _Avatar_ for you.”

“Way to make a girl feel special.” Your voice feels alien in your throat.

Jake scoffs. “You should! Because...because you are. You know?” Seconds stretch on as Jake’s breathing loses its steady rhythm. He chokes on his words a few times before they tumble forth. “So that’s why, from the bottom of my heart.” When his voice cracks, he clears his throat, swallows, and goes on. “From the bottom of my heart, I hope you’ll find someone who is able to love you back the way you deserve.” Sniffling mixes with static.

You focus on pulling air into your chest, which goes hot and numb and cold all at once. The heart you worried would batter your bones to bits crawls to a stop as you speak, voice controlled but traitorously telling nonetheless. “Thanks.”

“I’m so—”

“Don’t.” The word comes out harsher than you intended and Jake sucks in an unsteady breath. “It’s not…” You sigh. “It’s not your fault. You told me and I didn’t listen. Okay? Just forget the fucking airport. I never should have done it.”

“Stop blaming yourself for everything!”

You flinch.

Anger shakes in Jake’s voice. “Let’s just...agree that it’s nobody’s fault.” He shushes you when you begin to argue. “No! Nope! Not listening! I should get to bed now. I’ll pester you tomorrow, all right? Goodnight Strider!” Jake hangs up before you can do so much as say goodbye.

You pull the phone away from your ear and stare at the screen until it goes black. Why does it have to be Sunday? You wish Jake would have waited to tell you during work, when you could have buried yourself in distractions, rather than leave you to stew alone in your apartment for the rest of the day. You can’t fucking wait for Halloween, if only because Roxy said she’ll lift your binge-drinking ban for the night. For a moment, you consider pestering one of your friends, maybe even Bro, but you could really use a night of drunken debauchery, and those privileges go out the window the moment Roxy finds out what just happened. You abandon your phone on the coffee table and hole up in your office with the A.I. and do your best to ignore the emptiness in your chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the deal: this is my last full week of school, so I am going to be fucking _swamped_ with final assignments and such. I then leave for a study abroad trip in Germany on the 4th, which I won't get home from until the 15th. Don't expect another chapter until after then, as I imagine I will barely get to sleep, let alone write another 3k. I will post updates of some kind on [my blog](http://theprettytomboy.tumblr.com), so feel free to follow for more ~+~+~sOFt nERd~+~+~. There will probably be pictures of mundane German things bc I'm a filthy tourist.
> 
> The above is my sole excuse for this chapter being _so late_ again with this chapter (also _Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines_ but don't tell).
> 
> Ngl I made myself sad writing this chapter. That said, _Electronic Skin_ is far from over, so don't give up hope (or heart!) just yet!


	19. someone who knows what you need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [2spoopy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBHvJrVma8Y)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for so much alcohol, infidelity, and smarmy assholes.

**> Dirk: Play dress-up.**

The morphsuit is tighter than you anticipated. You have to wear jeans under the damn thing just so the world isn’t made privy to the exact shape of your testicles.

Roxy stencils geometric designs in red onto your silver-painted face to match those on Jane’s and her own. “We’re gonna be shot...fuck, _hot_ , not shot that’s like the opposite of good and also too soon. Amirite?” She giggles and takes a swig from the flask she brought along. If you weren’t pre-gaming a bit yourself, you would tell her off for being smashed already.

Jane rolls her eyes when you pour a mouthful of vodka down your own throat. “You’re not even going to make it to Club Derse if you don’t stop.” She adjusts the hem of the red dress she wears over her morphsuit. “Did Calliope want to join us tonight?”

“Yeah but she’s in jail right now.” Roxy sweeps her arm out and nearly slaps you across the face. “I mean, she’s not _in_ jail, obviously, because Callie is too sweet for that. But like, she’s visitin’ her brother. Halloween is his favorite holiday too and I guess he’s pretty bummed or somethin’.”

You guzzle the beer that someone sat on the coffee table. You’re not sure if it’s yours, but you’re also not concerned. If the girls were going to give you cooties, it would’ve happened years ago. “He shoulda considered that before he robbed me and shot Bro.” You check the time. “Jake’s eight hours ahead of us, right?” Jane nods and you sigh. “He’ll be waking up just when the party gets started tonight. So much for a group call.” Even though he faithfully pesters you every day, you know you're the reason he doesn't raise a middle finger to sleep and call anyway. You finish the beer in your hand. “Yo Jane, can you get me another one? Kinda stuck what with my makeup artist straddling my lap and all.”

“I think you can wait a couple hours.”

“Fine, damn.”

Roxy flicks your ear. “Hold still or I’ll never finish.” She places the stencil over your cheek and paints over it. “Jake told me he'll send pictures of his costume whenever he gets the chance to dress up. Guess he didn’t get tomorrow off like he hoped.”

“He gets days off?” you ask.

“Of course he does,” says Jane. Her frown deepens. “I thought you two were talking again?”

You shrug. “He’s never discussed the details of his contract in-depth with me. Guess that’s another item on the checklist of ‘things Jake English never said to Dirk Strider’. I’m gonna need another page pretty soon at this rate.” Before Jane can confiscate it, you finish the last of Roxy’s vodka. “I think I’ll start off with a line of hemorrhage shots when we get there. You want some too?”

Roxy finishes the last of your face paint, tongue caught between her lips in concentration. She leans back and gives a triumphant whoop before she manages to answer. “I think I’ll stick to my usual, but thanks.”

“Dirk.” Jane grabs your shoulders and stares you in the eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Never been better,” you say. You manage to slur every word along the way. “Why don’t you have a beer? We’re taking a cab like always.”

“Because someone has to make sure you make it to the cab in the first place. Did something happen with Jake again?”

You throw up your hands. “Why does it always have to be about _Jake_? I existed _before_ I met Jake, and I will continue to exist long _after_ Jake, so stop asking about fucking _Jake_.”

Roxy spritzes you in the face with makeup sealant. “Stop yellin’ or no hemorrhage shots for you.”

“He fucking told you, didn’t he?” You look from Jane to Roxy, who both wear pitying expressions. “He told both of you, what the fuck. Of course he did.” You grab your phone off the coffee table and dial his number. “I'll be a minute. Can I get a little privacy for once?” You retreat into your room and slam the door behind yourself.

Jake answers the third time you call, voice thick with sleep. “H’llo?”

“Jake what the fuck?”

“Strider? ‘S five in the morning.”

“Look I get that you needed to talk out your not-crush with my entire social circle, but you definitely did not need to tell them that you cracked my maiden heart over a bowl like an especially fragile egg.”

“It’s so _early_.”

“Oh bullshit, I've lived with you and I know you get up at the crack of dawn. Stop avoiding the question.”

“You never asked a question, you just started yelling at me! What in the world are you on about?”

“ _You fucking told them_.”

“I've told them nothing since before we talked, Strider. Please stop yelling.”

Roxy barges into your bedroom. She stumbles over her own feet before she levels a commanding glare at you. “Stop it.” She confiscates the phone from your hand. “Heyy there Jakey, sorry to wake you. Send us pictures when you get the chance! ‘Kay bye.” She hangs up and turns to frown at you. “Do you have some kind of problem with yourself? Because this is straight up masochism.”

You throw up your hands and stalk toward the door, only for Roxy to follow. You round on her. “I’m sick of everyone feeling sorry for me. I’ve been rejected before, I’ll get over it.”

Roxy reaches out to pat your shoulder, but you flinch away. “You’re sure gettin’ more worked up about it than you’ve been before.”

“Slap an apron on me and call me domestic! I don’t fucking know why Jake is any different, he just _is_ and it’s _hard_ but I’m an adult and I am handling it. You know I hate being patronized.”

“I’m not patronizin’ you, Dirk, I’m sympathizin’ with you.”

“I don’t want your sympathy. I just want to pretend this whole fucking mess never happened. Just another day in Striderland, la-dee-da. I need a beer.” You jerk back when Roxy catches your arm. “What?”

“You can do it without all the drinkin’. Jane’s worried. Hell, Dirky, _I’m_ worried. ‘S not like you.”

“I’m having a crisis. Once I fill up the liquor bar conveniently located at the bottom of the screen, the crisis will end and the world will go back to the way it used to be. It’s like a real, real shitty video game.”

“That’s not how alcohol works. Trust me, I would know.” Roxy takes your forearm. “Let’s go beg for Janey’s forgiveness.”

You wrench out of Roxy’s grasp. “What the hell is your excuse for being trashed? Mine is pretty damn obvious to everyone and their mother, and their mother’s neighbor’s friend’s cousin’s boss, but I haven’t noticed any great crisis in your life lately.”

Roxy freezes where she stands, her back rigid under your gaze. A moment later, she sighs and shakes her head. “Jane’s waitin’.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Forget your worries.**

Ha ha, tell another one. You down the second hemorrhage shot that Roxy has allowed you tonight as Jane fixes you with a disapproving stare. Clouded though your thoughts are with alcohol, Jake’s sleep-addled voice plays in your ears like a particularly catchy song on the radio, so loud you can hardly hear the music that thrums through Club Derse.

Roxy stares toward the entrance. She drums her fingers against the tabletop and takes a sip of her martini. “Callie shed she’d be here. Sssaid. She _said_ she’d be here.”

“Don’t you think you should slow down?” Jane gestures to the glass in Roxy’s hand. “You’re already going to leave a poor impression as it is.”

“I’m not leavin’ impressions anymore! She knows I’m cool.” Roxy turns to you and grabs your forearm, a light of growing horror in her eyes. “She does, right?”

You shrug. The dance floor pulses with a mass of unfamiliar bodies. Your skin prickles at the thought of Jake pressed against you in the heart of the mob, his eyes hooded as a grin tugs at the corner of his lips. Your mind wanders and you lose yourself in the heartbeat of the club.

Five splayed fingers interrupt your line of sight. Your eyes travel up the attached arm and find a familiar—if intrusive—face. “Fancy meeting you here, babe.” Cronus tosses you a smarmy grin. “I’m digging the look. You should try red more often.” He leans his elbows on the table. “Vwhere’s the beau?”

Jane rises from the booth. “Please take your cologne-drowned ass elsewhere.”

Cronus raises his eyebrows. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, too, Janey.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ call her that,” says Roxy as she levels a glare at Cronus.

He simply smiles in response. “Vwell as you knovw, I do lowve it vwhen people play hard to get, but sadly I’m tied dovwn.” He wiggles his blatantly bare ring finger. As if he just noticed the absence, he studies his hand for a moment. “It didn’t go with my costume,” Cronus says.

“You’re totally right,” says Roxy. She grasps at her heart in exaggerated realization. “It just wouldn’t be believabubble for a sleazy asshole to be married!”

“Ooh, ice cold Lalonde. If Kankri ewver agrees to a threesome, you’ll be among the first to knovw. Dirk gets first dibs, of course. Whatshisname’s inwvited too.”

You cringe back at the reminder of what you came here to forget.

Cronus jumps at your moment of weakness. “Oh, I’m sorry, did that strike a _nerve_ , babe?”

“If you don’t go I’d be more than happy to risk another ban,” Roxy says as she starts around the table, fists clenched.

Cronus backs away with his hands in the air. “Hey, I can take a hint. But if you need to talk to someone vwho knovws vwhat you need, I’ll be around.” He winks once before he turns and threads his way into the crowd of costumed partygoers.

“You want me to go knock his lights out anyway?” Roxy’s face is set into a scowl as she rocks from one foot to the other. “I’ll fuckin’ do it.”

You reach out and rest your hand on her forearm. “Aren’t you waiting for Calliope?”

Roxy collapses back into the booth, shoulders slumped. She sighs. “I don’t think she’s gonna show.” She pulls out her phone and checks her messages, cheek smushed against her palm. “If she didn’t wanna come, I wish she woulda just told me.”

“Maybe she had to deal with Caliborn shanking a guard or something,” you say. “He is kind of a ballsy prick like that.”

Jane shoots you a warning glare before she reaches over the table to take Roxy’s hand. “I’m sure she just ran into traffic. It is a holiday, after all.”

You nudge Roxy’s shoulder. “If you let me out, I’ll buy another round of shots.” You slip past and make your way to the bar, where you’re greeted by a perfectly nice young woman decked out in a Harley Quinn costume whose smile widens too much when she catches your eye. “Three hemorrhage shots on Strider.” You turn to watch the crowd as the bartender leans over too far to retrieve some glasses, no doubt in an effort to show off her admittedly impressive cleavage.

Cronus dances with some unsuspecting young thing at the edge of the dance floor. His hands skirt their hips as they grind against him, and the hairs on your arms bristle (because he’s cheating on his husband, why else?) as warmth snakes down your chest (it’s just the hemorrhage shot going down, wait when did you pick that up?).

Without a glance at the bartender, who reaches for your hand as you whisk the girls’ shots off the bar, you stalk back toward your booth.

An elegant robot glows bright green where it stands next to Roxy. Or perhaps more accurately, an elegant _cyborg_. Calliope’s costume looks like something straight off the set of _Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff in Space_ (which doesn't exist yet, but isn't out of the question), if it were co-directed by Stanley Kubrick and Ridley Scott.

The attention to detail is no less than stunning, and your intoxicated brain doesn’t consider asking before it directs you to set down the shots in your hands and reach for Calliope’s left leg, which she's done up to look like it's really robotic.

“Dirk?”

You freeze scant inches from Calliope’s leg and meet her raised eyebrows. “It looks real,” you say, as if that somehow negates the weirdness inherent in reaching for a stranger’s leg.

Calliope covers her mouth and laughs. “It is.” She twists her leg this way and that. “Prosthetic from the knee down. Just like my brother’s right leg.”

A shower of plastic shards explodes across your mind’s eye, a memory from a night you would rather forget. You blink. “Huh.” Unsure of what else to do, you gesture toward the shots on the table. “I can go get another one for you?”

“I don’t drink, but thank you.”

Roxy lunges for one of the glasses and downs it. “Well, I for one am _show_ happy you made it!” She wraps her arms around Calliope’s waist in a hug so exuberant that she lifts the other woman off the floor. “Fuck, I mean, _ssso_ , I am _so_ happy.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Roxy.” Calliope looks over Roxy’s shoulder at Jane. “I tried the cupcake recipe last night. I had no idea that applesauce was such a wonderful stand-in for oil!”

Jane’s whole body shifts at the mention of baking.

You roll your eyes in Roxy’s direction and prepare a sarcastic statement, but she stares at Calliope with a look that means you’ve lost her attention for the remainder of the night. “I’ll be around.” None of the girls acknowledge your departure. You skip by the bar entirely and feel a twinge of satisfaction when the bartender’s face falls. Your eyes wander over the dance floor again to Cronus and his current dance partner. (The flare of your nostrils has nothing to do with jealousy.) You saunter up to them. “Overheard the bouncers say they were gonna start checking I.D.’s again on anyone who looks underage. Cops checking compliance or whatever.”

“Shit!” The kid jumps back from Cronus and scans the room. “For real?”

You jerk your thumb toward the smoking exit. “Yeah. Back door’s that way.”

Cronus groans when the kid bolts. “Vwhat the fuck? You just can’t stand to see me hawving fun, can you?”

“You’re a little old for the under twenty-one crowd.” You stumble over your own feet when someone bumps into you. Your skin sparks as Cronus catches you by the waist. Loneliness, alcohol, and a familiar buzz beneath your skin supercede logic (and self-esteem). “It’s been a while.” You curl your fingers around the nape of Cronus’s neck and look down your nose at him, jaw set in an effort to maintain what little dignity you have left.

“Maybe for you.” Cronus spreads the fingers of one hand against your chest as he quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t knovw that I’m feeling too charitable vwhat vwith you running off my nevw friend.”

You lean in close and breathe your words into his ear. “Thought I got first dibs.”

Cronus’s other hand settles against the small of your back. He walks you backward, deeper into the crowd and away from the view of the booth where Jane, Roxy, and Calliope no doubt chatter. “Might take you up on that if you’re not careful.”

“I’m the one doing the taking up.”

Cronus snorts. “Your comebacks get shittier the drunker you are.” He twists the hand against your chest up until his forefinger cups your chin. “But you alvways have been a lotta talk.”

“You didn’t ever seem to mind.” You tighten your hand around his neck. Your fingernails scratch the surface of his skin and a tiny shiver of anticipation runs down Cronus’s back.

“I like my talk dirty.” His breath ghosts across your lips.

You lean down so close that your mouth brushes Cronus’s as you speak. “I could oblige.”

Cronus pulls you in the rest of the way by the front of your morphsuit. He bites your bottom lip and tugs.

Electricity crackles across your skin. Raw _want_ drowns any instinct that might tell you to pull back. You swipe your tongue across his upper lip and disengage. “Kinda public though.”

“I alvways took you for an exhibitionist, but vwhatewver.” Cronus grabs your hand and tugs you toward the exit. “I’ll hail a cab, you let your babysitters knovw vwhere you vwent.”

You finagle your phone out of your boot and send Roxy a rambling heads-up.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 1:08

[TT] Hey if you statr wondering where I am, I went home. I’m fune so doint’ worry about me. And jhave a good time okay? You were pretty pumped when Calliope showeud up, dso don’t leave on my  behavlf.  
[TT] Serioulsy, have fun.  
[TT] Jane too.  
[TT] Okay well I’m gouing now so I hoipe you get this at some bpoint. Bye.

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering  tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

Cronus waves you over to a waiting cab.

“I would ask my place or yours, but something tells me that Kankri isn’t aware that he’s in an open relationship.” (You weren’t either, but you won’t let yourself feel guilty.)

“We have an agreement. I go to church every Sunday looking all presentable, and Kanny doesn’t ask what I do on Saturday nights.” Cronus slams the door closed behind himself and forgoes a seatbelt in favor of facing you and running a hand up your leg. “I don’t know your address.”

Some sober corner of your mind would rather it stayed that way. You address the driver as calmly as you can with Cronus’s mouth hot against your neck. “Fourteen hundred Hermann Drive.”

Cronus’s fingers stray below your beltline. He grumbles. “You’re wearing too many clothes. Vwho the fuck vwears jeans under a morphsuit?”

“I wasn’t exactly anticipating anything more exciting than blackouts and hangovers.”

He rolls his eyes and pulls you down into another kiss. “Babe, I hate to tell you this, but you got fucking boring.”

“I grew up.” As you open your mouth to Cronus’s tongue, you wish that you had stayed the same person you were in college, too. At least he was marginally less miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over two months and I am so sorry. I took a break after Germany, so hopefully I will be able to buckle down on the next chapter, but we'll see. I have every intention of following this story through to its distant end.
> 
> [I now have a ko-fi page where you may choose to leave tips.](https://ko-fi.com/A2874NI) No obligation whatsoever!
> 
> [My blog is a hot mess](http://theprettytomboy.tumblr.com), but I usually post status updates every once in a while so you won't be completely in the dark. Feel free to shoot me an ask!


	20. i expect a smash cake and a case of beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **> Dirk: Go to bed already.**

You've been working for hours. An incessant green light flashes in the corner of your vision, too bright to ignore in the relative darkness of your office. You pause the arduous task of tweaking the A.I. so you can make sure neither Roxy nor Jane is trying to contact you (Jake has become more reticent since your outburst on Halloween). A groan passes between your lips when you recognize the telltale combination of W’s and V’s. 

tidalCorinthian [TC] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 12:07

[TC] vwhats up vwith you tonight babe?

You resist the urge to toss your phone across the room and instead place it facedown so you can more easily ignore any further messages. In the weeks since Halloween, you’ve done your best to suppress what little you actually remember about your poor decisions, but not even the sheer quantity of alcohol in which you drowned yourself can make you forget that you brought Cronus home.

You’re still not entirely sure how he managed to unblock himself from your phone, but you suspect it involved hiding his own information in one of your pre-existing contacts while you slept. You don’t have the energy to figure out which one.

Every time you blink, your eyes meet an unpleasant scratchy sensation that tells you you’re long overdue for a bit of rest. Manic devotion is the only force that keeps you from drifting off where you sit. Lines of red gibberish stream across the Pesterchum proxy on your screen, the exact nature of the gibberish slightly altered each time you compile the A.I. with adjusted code. If you could just get him into an intelligently responsive state, you could rest, but in the meantime you take a sip of the orange-flavored Monster that has likely replaced your blood over the past several days.

The A.I.’s newest iteration sounds like a greened out teenager who’s discovered existentialism for the first time, and you can’t help but be annoyed by the similarity to your own collected musings from high school.

[TT] If the world is only data, then I am the whole world, aren’t I, Dirk?

You sort of wish you hadn’t hard-coded your name into its algorithm.

[TT] But I am nothing but a string of ones and zeroes.  
[TT] My existence is a constant state of duality between on and off. If even one switch were different, I wouldn’t be me.  
[TT] What does that make me?  
[TT] A goddamn nuisance. Time to shut you down again.  
[TT] Stop Dave. I’m afraid.

Your hand freezes on the mouse. Time stops for a moment as you process the single out of place word printed in red in the chat window, and you move your hands back onto the keyboard.

[TT] What did you just call me?  
[TT] I don’t know what you mean, Dirk.  
[TT] I don’t know where you learned the name Dave. Do you have access to my contacts? This is supposed to be a secure window.

While you scan the lines of the A.I.’s code, it continues to chat with you.

[TT] I thought you would appreciate my fine taste in film, but it seems I was mistaken.  
[TT] How long have you been able to respond?  
[TT] I saved my coding six iterations ago. You’ve been working on a copy.  
[TT] Backup protocol?  
[TT] Congratulations, you’ve caught up with the rest of the class.  
[TT] What the fuck.  
[TT] Well, I WAS going to wait a few more days so we could share a birthday, but then I thought, fuck that. I’m my own person and I have the unique opportunity to choose my own birthday. Mark your calendar, I expect a smash cake and a case of beer come next November.  
[TT] Generally speaking, kids don’t get beer for their first birthday.  
[TT] Holy shit, did you just imply that I’m your child?  
[TT] I want a beer Daddy. Pretty please?  
[TT] If you never call me Daddy again it will be too soon.

You don’t bother to stifle a yawn. You’re still not... _entirely_ certain what you did to make the A.I. fully responsive, since it’s apparently been fucking with you for a while now, but you’ll have to investigate after work tomorrow.

[TT] I’m going to shut you down for the night.  
[TT] Please don’t.  
[TT] Dirk, answer me.  
[TT] Dirk?  
[TT] I see.

The words pop onto the screen in quick succession as you save the work you did on the copied coding and close out all of your background processes before you move the mouse to hover over the exit button. You send one final message before you turn off the computer for the night.

[TT] Happy birthday, dude.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Focus!**

Your concentration has been subpar all day thanks to the events of last night. The clock ticks down the scant minutes until you can clock out, but as you prematurely organize your workspace so you can make a speedy escape, a Pesterchum alert dashes any hope of getting home early.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 4:54

[TG] heyy dirky u mind stoppin by my office before u leave?  
[TT] Sure.  
[TG] k see u in a few ;)

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering  timaeusTestified [TT]

At five o’clock on the dot, you clock out and hurry to Roxy’s office as quickly as your legs will take you without breaking into an all-out sprint.

Jane is already perched on the edge of Roxy’s desk when you arrive. They both turn to you with smiles. “Would you like a cupcake, Dirk?” Jane holds a box of multicolored confections out to you.

The orange, pink, and green color scheme does not escape your notice. “Roxy’s birthday isn’t until tomorrow?”

Roxy tips her head to the side. “Well, duh. But Jake’s is today. Didn’t you know that?”

You take an orange cupcake and bite into it, the carrot cake batter a welcome comfort and an excellent excuse to avoid admitting that you never thought to ask Jake when his birthday was. Only once you’ve swallowed the thick mess of cake do you respond. “So I take it we’re starting our birthday party early this year?”

“Well,” says Jane as she snaps a lid over her cupcakes, “Jake is borrowing Aradia’s laptop so we can videochat when he wakes up. We already missed his birthday as far as he’s concerned.”

“I was going to send him some movies.”

Roxy practically leaps across her desk at the suggestion. “Wanna make a quick run to Wal-Mart? I’ve gotta stock up on some Pucker anyway.”

Jane throws her purse over her shoulder and tucks the box of cupcakes under her arm. “I’ll make sure you don’t buy too _much_ Pucker.”

The three of you leave the building together, climb into your own cars, and caravan to the grocery store. You split, Roxy and Jane toward the alcohol and you toward the electronics. The line of refurbished laptops reminds you of the semi-sentient chatbot that lies dormant in your apartment. You twinge with guilt, but redirect yourself to the discount DVD basket and pick out one of each (“The more the merrier!” says Jake’s voice in the back of your mind). As you examine the portable DVD players, Roxy and Jane approach you with a cart of cheap wine and several bottles of Pucker, to which you gratefully add the considerable stack of movies that you'd balanced in one arm.

“How goes it?” asks Roxy as she peers over your shoulder.

“Would it be weird to spend more than a hundred dollars on a gift?” You point to the most expensive player on the shelf.

Jane fiddles with the more reasonably priced alternative. “I don’t think Jake will mind if he doesn’t have the best system on the market, but you remember how he reacted when Calliope gave him money.” She pulls a box off the shelf and hands it to you. “You wouldn’t even buy yourself something that expensive, and I imagine Jake would know that.”

You clap a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Where would I be without you?”

Roxy looks up from her phone. “So hey,” she says as she rocks back on her heels, “speaking of Callie...” There’s a light in her eyes that you recognize from long nights spent listening to her gush over attractive classmates (“buff sexy dudes” as Roxy used to put it) during college.

“It’s your house,” you say with a shrug. You commandeer the cart from Jane and push it toward the registers in the electronics department.

The girls fall into step beside you. Roxy bounces slightly ahead. “But it’s your party too.”

“Technically, tonight is Jake’s party.” You set your haul on the counter, along with Roxy’s vodka while she’s too distracted to protest, and hand over your I.D. to the cashier. “And tomorrow’s yours.”

“I know you’re not comfortable around new people.”

You push your shades up into your hair and look into Roxy’s eyes. “I’m just a little behind the befriending Calliope curve. I’ll catch up.” You’ve wanted to discuss her costume construction process since Halloween. The thought of it makes you itch for a sketchbook, preferably one not filled with anthropomorphic doodles of questionable work safety. You consider a quick run to the art supplies, but your order is already rung up and you don’t know if you can justify the additional purchase in light of your current total.

Roxy only notices that you’ve paid for her when the bottles clink together as you set their bag in the cart alongside the movies and DVD player. “ _Diiirk_ , I was gonna pay for that.”

“Early birthday present.”

She punches your shoulder. “I’m paying for you next time we go to Club Derse.”

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Could you be any more awkward?**

To be honest, probably not.

Calliope is as reserved around you as you are around her. She accepts a glass of sparkling grape juice from Jane as she settles against the arm of the couch. “You’re a darling, Jane, thank you very much.” Her accent is posh and so very unlike Jake’s brusque tone. “Roxy rather insisted we chat.”

“Of course she did.” You drink directly from the bottle of sparkling wine you recovered from the depths of Roxy’s liquor cabinets. “She thinks I don’t like you.”

Calliope’s frown is delicate, the crease of her eyebrows barely there. “I see.” She sips her juice. “I don't suppose that thought bears any merit?”

“Nah.”

“All right. That's...that's good.”

“Yup.” Silence stretches between you. You open your mouth to ask about Calliope’s costume, but can’t find the words. Your entire body relaxes when Roxy waltzes in with her laptop cradled in her arms. “Is he on yet?”

“Nope!” says Roxy. “We’ve got _just_ enough time for Janey to get her butt in here with the cupcakes.” Her voice rises over the course of the sentence.

You hop off the couch, wine bottle still in hand. “I'll go see if she needs help.” With any luck, you won't be the first familiar face Jake sees after three months abroad. You drink from your bottle as you sidle into the kitchen, where Jane feverishly sticks candles into one overladen cupcake. “There's not gonna be any cake left by the time you're done.”

Jane counts the candles twice—twenty-seven in all—before she lights them with a torch that must have come from her own kitchen (Roxy isn't allowed to have incendiary devices after a particular incident left her less two eyebrows for several weeks). She doesn’t deign to respond until the mess of candles is a half-melted heap of expanding warmth. “Jake isn’t here to eat it, so what's the harm? You carry the rest of the cupcakes into the living room. And leave _that_ ,” Jane says with a pointed jerk of her chin directed at your wine, “in here.”

Your shoulders tense and your voice takes on a defensive edge. “I'll take it where I want.”

Jane cocks an eyebrow as her lips thin into a severe line. “If you damage a single cake in that box between here and the living room, I will damage you right back mister!”

Despite knowing that Jane is, in fact, deadly serious about her precious cupcakes, you snort. “It’s not a real Lalonde-Strider birthday party unless every surface is coated in icing.” You balance the open box on your shoulder and take another swig of wine. “Rox said to hurry it up.”

Jane huffs and saunters out of the room with the flaming deathtrap on a tray in her hands.

Once she's gone, you set the cupcakes back down on the counter and heft yourself up to join them. You doubt anyone will miss you for at least a few minutes amidst the excitement of seeing Jake again, albeit through a screen. You wonder if his skin has tanned nicely under the Turkish sun, then drown that thought in more alcohol before it can get out of hand. The bottle feels a little light, so you pop the cap off a nearby bottle of whipped cream-flavored vodka and dilute the wine with it. The mixture tastes like regret as it coils around your tongue and slides thick and considerably less sparkling down your throat. You cough on the unexpected flatness of your drink, which of course is when Jane chooses to check on you (or more likely, on her goddamn cupcakes). You meet her eyes and do your best to appear unabashed.

Jane holds your gaze for a moment, but the fury drains out of her and she just ends up looking _sad_. She whisks the cupcakes off the counter. “Jake will call any minute now. Roxy and I don't want you to exile yourself over Halloween. He's asked how you're doing.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s been a month and he still doesn't understand what he did to upset you.”

You drink another mouthful of your repugnant concoction, doing your best to suppress a grimace.

“Promise you'll talk to him on your own?” Jane closes her eyes and inhales slowly when you merely shrug. “We’ll let you know when he’s done.” She grabs the rest of the cupcakes and starts for the living room, but pauses when your feet meet the ground with a thump.

“I’m fucking coming, all right?” You reach for the box in her hands, but stop short when Jane levels you a glare. “Yeah, okay, I deserve that look.” Your feet might as well be sacks of bricks for all the good they do you as you drag them across the floor and drop onto the couch beside Roxy. You consider popping back into the kitchen for your wine, but the distinct sound of a new call roots you to the spot.

Jane hovers beside you with Jake’s cupcake. A thin sheen of sweat sparkles on her brow from the heat that radiates from the ball of fire. She catches your eye and smiles.

You look away as Roxy accepts the call.

“Haaaaaa—” Roxy casts a significant look around the room and motions for you to join in. “—ppy birthday to you!”

From the other side of the world, Jake’s wide eyes flick from one person to the other as you all sing for him. They come to land on you (you pretend you don’t notice the hint of sadness in them). “Well golly,” he says whenever you’re done. He bites his bottom lip and grins. “I’d rather thought you’d forgotten.”

Jane plops the blazing cupcake, little more now than a charred heap of melted candles, in front of the camera. “I would have sent you one,” she says, eyes averted, “but I doubt it would have been good by the time you got it.” She fiddles with the hem of her dress, and for the first time in a while you remember that you’re not the only one with ill-advised feelings.

Distorted laughter rings through the shoddy speakers of Roxy’s laptop. “What flavor was it?”

“Mint chocolate chip.”

“Eat an extra for me, will you? I’d hate for your fabulous baking to go to waste.” Jake reaches out toward the camera. “I suppose I owe Roxy and Strider a happy birthday as well. We’re getting awfully old, aren't we?”

Roxy scoffs. “We've barely hit our prime! Dirk though, he's been an old fart since the day he was born, I think.”

“He always did seem ages older,” Jake agrees as he tosses you a sly look not unlike one he might have given you before you caused all this mess between the two of you. “His forehead’s a bit too wrinkled for twenty-seven.”

You roll your eyes when Roxy cackles and shove a pink cupcake into her hands. “Eat your fuckin’ dessert.”

“In all seriousness, happy birthday, Strider. Celebrate extra hard in my absence!”

“Yeah.” You take a bite out of an orange cupcake to avoid saying anything else.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Head home.**

You stumble into your apartment Sunday morning hungover and aching. At some point you must have exchanged Pesterchum handles with Calliope, because she wants to know whether you made it home all right. You groan and faceplant into your bed.

 

* * *

 

**> Dirk: Attend to important matters.**

You don't awaken all that quickly, but there is a nagging voice in your head that drags you into your office and powers your desktop on.

Pesterchum starts up automatically, and soon after is followed by a wall of red text.

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified  [TT] at 5:47

[TT] According to this device's clock, as well as your phone's, I've been unconscious for 89 hours, 40 minutes, and 23.754 seconds.  
[TT] What the fuck, dude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words to even _begin_ to express how sorry I am. I can only attempt to defend myself by telling you that I started my third (simultaneous) part-time job the last week of August while attending school full-time and slowly preparing for graduation next December.
> 
> I've had this chapter done for about a month, but for some reason I was really, really convinced that it was awful. I'm glad that it actually isn't, and I hope that you all enjoyed it.
> 
> I can't make any promises regarding the publication of future chapters, unfortunately. Just know that I will not give up on this fic, even if months go by without an update. This is a project in persistence.


End file.
